


Marked For Loneliness

by NightReaderEnigma



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Explicit Language, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Mild Sexual Content, Prompt Fic, Romance, Sexual Tension, Soulmates, Tumblr Prompt, multi-chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-01-24 23:21:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21346447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightReaderEnigma/pseuds/NightReaderEnigma
Summary: In her trusting stranglehold he found peace and acceptance, the kind which eluded his imposing persona in the light of day.  With her, he could be true to himself, vulnerable and exposed.  The caring, kind, nurturing demeanour which he was forced to bury deep within - given permission to rise to the surface and envelope this precious creature in all the protection and cherishment she deserved.As a young Squire, Jaime Lannister meets someone who touches upon his heart - this chance encounter sets off a chain reaction which irreversibly shapes and alters his life path...
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 274
Kudos: 307





	1. Many, Many Moons Ago.....

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ro_Nordmann](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ro_Nordmann/gifts).

> Hello everyone! I am very excited to be sharing my second Multi-Chapter Braime fic.  
This tale is gifted to Ro_Nordmann who gave me my first ever Prompt Request as part of the Fanfiction Trope Mash-Up.  
Thank-you Ro for sending me this prompt which quickly grew wings and sent me flying into writing this mini saga! :D 
> 
> My Prompt is: Soulmate AU + Forgotten First Meeting
> 
> Ok so: AU has a lot of interpretations but I personally only work within the realms of the Canon universe, therefore my AU portion is Canon Divergence. (For this fic, I reference Book Canon - but as its divergence, show watchers will certainly be able to follow as well). 
> 
> Now for the Caution (which I've never had to do before).  
Age Warning: I have altered the ages of the characters slightly - to marginally reduce the Jaime & Brienne age gap (which in book canon is large). In this tale I never implicitly state ages so you can set them where you feel comfortable. Chapter One opens on Jaime's time squiring with other boys - therefore some underage drinking and womanising takes place but nothing outside what you would expect of the A Song of Ice and Fire Universe.  
This tale will also have Canon Typical Violence, Swearing, Sexual References basically things you would find in the books.  
Ok - so now you've been warned! LOL
> 
> I intend to post a chapter every 1-2 days. I have completely written this tale so it is just a matter of final editing and uploading the chapters. 
> 
> I think for now that is everything (though I'm sure I will have more notes along the way). 
> 
> To anyone who reads - I hope you enjoy it!

“Come on! There’s no one guarding his quarters - I’m sure his private stash is where he keeps the good stuff instead of the piss we have been served.”

Merrett Frey shoved along the other squires with a meaty hand. The boys scurrying down the dimly lit corridors too afraid to defy the slab of beef. Such insubordination to the bully would be sure to mark them as his next victim.

Jaime hung back, the supposed thrill of swiping Arbour Gold seeming like a trifling distraction. He found little amusing about the notion of abusing guest right, just so his immature comrades could whet their insatiable thirst for alcohol and girls. The heir of Lannister was cut from a different cloth. Disinterested in the pursuits which thrilled his simpleminded companions. They seemed somehow unaffected by the gravity of the task ahead.

Their retinue was stationed at Ashford Meadows, under the hospitality of the Lord who shared a name with his stronghold. Their final respite as they awaited the party from the Reach to join their campaign – then they would ride for the Kingswood to battle the Brotherhood. Staring death in the face in the name of transitioning from boy to man.

Danger, glory and honour awaited with the break of dawn and it was this prospect which turned his blood to fire in his veins.

Did they not feel it? Crave it? A Knighthood and place in the pages of history?

_No, these lackwits would be more like to celebrate quaffing a bottle of priceless wine in one breath than caring about their legacy. _

It was a lonely feeling, being detached from his fellow squires, but he would not change his view of the world just to accommodate their foolish ways.

_There are no other boys like me, only me._

“Are you coming Lannister or are you a coward?” Merrett mocked him with a sneer.

Jaime was the only lad who refused to be intimidated by his size and he knew deep down that scared the lumbering stoat more than he would ever admit.

_A lion does not cower…._

“We shall see who is craven in due course. When an outlaw holds a blade to your throat and shit runs down your leg.” Tywin had taught him how to deliver a line barbed in ice. A quiet monotone more frightful that a bellow or a roar.

“Though they say in the heat of battle many men lose their lives to their own side. When old grievances rise to the surface and the opportunity to rid themselves of an adversary becomes too great to resist.” The glint of a promise smiling sharply through emerald eyes. “Fear not Frey. I will be sure to be right there beside you.”

The brute of a boy scowled, commandeering his lackeys and disappearing into the dark without another word.

Jaime relished his newfound solitude as he began to wander and explore.

The halls of the castle were long and ancient, a House steeped in history but robbed of its prior influence. A sombre mood seemed to imbue the bricks and mortar, which the aspiring knight felt to the depth of this bones.

_The other lads were oblivious, they possess little perception._

Though maybe it was just upbringing – being exposed to heartache, quickly brought you up to speed with reality, whereas others remained green and naïve as Summer Grass.

Taking several turns, Jaime attempted to navigate away from the Lord’s quarters. Distancing himself from the raiding rabble and keen not to be affiliated with their hijinks. Rounding another corner, the young Lord stopped dead when light fell across the hall from an open door. The obvious silhouettes of two men within, voices lowered deep in conversation. Jaime shrank against the wall to avoid detection as he assessed his options – if he doubled back, he was likely to be mistaken as part of the marauding group; but if he pressed forward, he may be seen.

As he looked for an alternate exit, Jaime couldn’t help but overhear snippets of their exchange.

“I thank you for making the journey. I know it must have been difficult.” He recognised the tones of Lord Ashford. Polite and courteous, even if afflicted by sadness.

“It was what she would have wanted – to be laid to rest at her ancestral home. We are of the sea but she was always of the land.”

“And the twins?” His breath hitched, imbued with gravel.

“The Maester says the labour took too great a toll on their small hearts. Both slipped away in their sleep.” The other man choked back tears and the despair hit Jaime like a wall of emotion. “I thought after we lost Galladon that no grief could be as great – yet here I am.”

“You still have your daughter.”

“Yes – it seems she and I are alone in the world.” His voice broke and Jaime had heard enough to know he was intruding upon a very personal and private moment. Guilt washed over him like a flood as his heart outpoured with empathy for the bereaved widower.

Bolstered by the knowledge that both men were thoroughly preoccupied, the heir of Lannister slipped silently past the chamber and picked his way back to the common room.

()()()()()()()

The young lion sipped his ale with a heavy chest. The leaden weight having settled over him like a shroud following his earlier eavesdropping. Remorse mingled with compassion as their sorrow dredged up buried feelings within his own troubled soul. He perched upon a window seat, staring out into the darkness. Removed from the carousers who groped at serving girls and relayed tales of their daring thievery. With each subsequent retelling the stakes became higher, the venture more daring, the heroes ever growing bolder. Jaime sighed and rolled his eyes, supremely unimpressed.

He continued to gaze into the abyss, going over stances and textbook sword fighting tactics as a way to divert his mind.

A sudden drunken cry from one of the men snapped his attention back to the present.

“What is this?!” Lord Broom screwed up his face and gestured angrily with his arms, knocking into the camp follower who dandled on his lap. “We are not a nursery! Where is it’s maid?”

Jaime followed his line of sight to land upon a toddler girl. She stood disoriented in the centre of the room in her pretty white nightgown, trimmed in blue satin ribbon. He did not know enough about children to try and guess her age but from her face he suspected she was younger than her height would indicate. The tot had tears streaming down her freckled cheeks, bottom lip trembling uncontrollably as she fisted at her eyes. “Momma….” She sniffled, the word mumbled and barely intelligible.

“Seven fucking Hells!” Merrett bellowed loudly. “Look at that face! If I had a mug like that I’d be crying too.”

The other squires joined in his lead and howled with laughter.

“Maybe it saw itself in a mirror!”

“It is a boy or a girl? It’s too frightful to tell.”

“That is one ugly kid! When that one was born, they spanked its mother.”

“Get it out of here!” Another of the grown men roared.

At the harsh raised voices, she began to sob more violently. Guilelessly searching the strangers' faces for someone familiar and of comfort. Droplets of water dripped from her chin, soaking the collar of her nightdress. “Mmmm….Momma….muh, muh, momma.”

It was more than Jaime could bear. He leapt from his seat, stooping down to scoop her up in his arms. “Come here sweetling.”

She was heavier than he would have imagined but his muscles were strong from hours in the practice yard. It was true that the child was not pleasant of face but it made no difference to him. Somewhere far away at Casterly Rock, his own little brother resided. Shunned and mocked since birth for his appearance which he could not help. Jaime loved him regardless and this girl deserved no different.

“Awww look.” Merrett taunted. “Nursemaid Lannister has come to save the day. Are you lactating Lordling? Shall we get you a corset?”

Jaime shook his head in disgust, bouncing the girl upon his hip. “You are all animals.”

He turned on his heel, exiting the room to a symphony of laughter.

()()()()()()()

Safely away from their scorn and cruelty, where the sounds of their derision could no longer reach their two sets of ears, the lion finally exhaled. He shifted her weight from one side to another, glad at least she was not screaming as if he had abducted her.

_Perhaps I did not think this through…. but I could not leave her there. _

The sole valid point they had made had been to question her presence in the room. How she had evaded her minders on those impossibly long legs to find herself in a den of iniquity. Jaime wanted to find her carers – and quite possibly give them a piece of his mind – but knew it would be too optimistic of him to think he could locate the nursery amongst the labyrinth of halls.

_Best wait here until someone finds us. _

He manoeuvred them both over to a window, the floor to ceiling glass allowing an obstructed beam of moonlight to filter through. Bathing the carpets in its soft silvery glow. Stepping into its light, he pressed the tot to his chest, gazing into her forlorn face.

“You are very distressed aren’t you sweetling?” Jaime crooned.

Her large bottom lip pouted as water dribbled ceaselessly from her eyes and nose. “I think I know who you were searching for.”

Phrases from earlier surfaced to the forefront of his brain as he drew his conclusions. “I understand, I lost my Momma too.”

He touched a gloved hand to her cheek, swiping away rivers of salt tears which had no right to fall so freely from someone so young. With a smile he found himself marvelling at her big blue eyes, the way they shone in the moonlight like endless pools of sapphire. A redeeming quality which thoroughly outweighed the plainness of the rest of her features. Her little chest heaved against his own and he cuddled her to his shoulder in an attempt to soothe.

“How am I going to make you stop crying, hey?” He rocked from foot to foot, swaying her back and forth gently the way he did when Tyrion was unsettled.

“Shall I sing you a song?”

Checking warily behind him, he made sure there were no witnesses to what he was about to do.

“Cersei hates it when I sing. She says it makes me a fool.” He grinned at his defiance of his twin. “But I say it is worth being foolish if it brings a smile back to your face.”

Stroking her brittle blonde hair, he continued to talk. Noting how her erratic breathing was beginning to calm.

“Now I don’t know any lullabies, so usually what I do is - I make up silly songs to make my little brother laugh. But I’m thinking you won’t like the kind of nonsense that my brother does, so I’m going to have to come up with something else.”

Her head rested sideways on his shoulder, tucked against his neck and Jaime ignored the ache blossoming in his arms so as not to disturb her.

“You’ll forgive me if it is subpar won’t you?”

Keeping his tone merry, he tried not to laugh, knowing it would jostle her in place. “Of course you will – it can be our secret.”

_What do you sing to a girl about? _

Glancing down he watched her waterlogged blonde lashes blink slowly. Shuttering and revealing her giant cerulean marbles.

_That will work…._

“Blue is the sky,

Azure are your eyes,

Bright and clear,

You have nothing to fear…

Sleepiness calls,

Yet you walk the halls,

Looking to find,

Why you were left behind….

The harsh world is wild,

But rest easy dear child,

You are brave, never meek,

It is your own light you seek….

You hold it within,

And the dark never wins,

When you shine on the world,

So pleasant dreams sweet girl…”

As he hummed the notes in-between, composing as he went, her tiny fingers curled around the laces of his jerkin filling him with warmth. Rhythmically he continued to sway, repeating the four stanzas over and over as he watched her yawn and slowly surrender to her overtiredness. Still he persevered, unwilling to let his own fatigue disturb his small charge once he finally had her calm.

_Perhaps just for the time being, she can forget her loss and find contentment in a land of summer and flowers…._

His throat thrummed against the top of her head as he carried the tune, his breath toying with the loose strands of her blonde hair as he closed his eyes and let himself become at one with the serenity. The simple task of pacifying this dewy-eyed little toddler bringing solace to his own battered soul.

In her trusting stranglehold he found peace and acceptance, the kind which eluded his imposing persona in the light of day. With her, he could be true to himself, vulnerable and exposed. The caring, kind, nurturing demeanour which he was forced to bury deep within, given permission to rise to the surface and envelope this precious creature in all the protection and cherishment she deserved.

_Thank you sweetling, for taking me at face value and embracing me just as I am - not what I should be…._

It took all his training not to jump when a man behind him cleared his throat, breaking their tranquility and startling the young Squire where he stood.

Jaime pivoted on the spot and beheld an older gent with greying hair watching them, his blue eyes the same matching shade as the girl cradled against him.

“I see you found my daughter.” He spoke quietly, not wanting to wake the tot.

“Yes Ser.” Jaime answered respectfully, unsure how to address the man. From a quick scan of his attire, he was not of common birth. “I did not mean to take her, she wandered into the room and….”

“I heard what happened from Lord Crakehall, he spoke to your character. I thank you for taking care of her.”

“It was my pleasure.” Reluctantly Jaime allowed the girls father to prise her from his arms, gently untwining her fingers from his ties. The lion smiled as she remained sleeping, filled with a strange sense of pride in being able to comfort her to such an extent.

“You did well.” Her father remarked, holding her with one arm as if she weighed no more than a feather. His frame incredibly tall and broad. “She is not easily lulled.” 

“I admire her tenacity.” Jaime confessed, reaching up to pet her head once more as he said goodbye. “Stubborn little thing.” He whispered.  
“You fought valiantly My Lady.”


	2. Reflections on a Life Gone Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lion’s year had amounted to shit. Though that was a rather accurate summary of most of his life. An endless parade of missteps and ill-fortune. The Gods determined to smite him for the crimes he had committed, whether or not he was entirely deserving of the punishment.
> 
> _It all started with Cersei. Her fucking majesty, our illustrious Queen....___

Ser Jaime Lannister stood encased in his gold armour, the late summer sun beating down on the other combatants as he sized them up.

_One more round to go. _

It felt wonderful to be fighting in a melee again. It had been too long since he had engaged in arm to arm combat.

_And half these men despise me, so it will make bringing them to their knees even more glorious. _

His sword was clutched in his right hand and his blood sung with anticipation.

The Lion’s year had amounted to shit. Though that was a rather accurate summary of most of his life. An endless parade of missteps and ill-fortune. The Gods determined to smite him for the crimes he had committed, whether or not he was entirely deserving of the punishment.

_It all started with Cersei. Her fucking majesty, our illustrious Queen._

He knew she watched from the sidelines, most likely hoping he would get his head kicked in. It was entirely probable she had placed a wager to the extent or bribed another Knight to do her dirty work. Their bond was non-existent. Trashed to pieces years ago with his refusal to be her puppet.

He had come to King’s Landing a newly made Knight, renowned for his sword skills and his Father’s pride and joy. Keen to see Cersei after so much time has elapsed, to show her the man he had become and gauge if her feelings towards him remained unchanged. His golden twin, his other half – his intentions were all honourable. Or as honourable as they could be given their incestuous history.

But she had other plans and her desire was not for conversation. Her hands had known just where to touch, how to kindle fires in a young man’s loins. His heart had been consumed by love for her and he didn’t stop to question her motives until it was too late. Until he lay sated and spent, staring at the ceiling in the dilapidated Inn as she whispered machinations in his ear. Suggestions of defying their Father, renouncing his birthright, giving it all away to join the Kingsguard. Trading his title and lands for a place in her vicinity and the occasional pleasure of between her thighs. In secret of course, their hidden shame, always closeted from the world.

If Jaime had believed that her sentiments were genuine he may have considered. If he were convinced that her motive was love of him and nothing else. But instead as though a veil was lifted he saw the act for what it was – a manipulative ploy. A scheme. Putting him in a place which would help ensure her own advancement. A stepping stone to securing the power which she craved. He was a sacrifice to be made on her altar. His groin the tool by which she would control him. And he was not going to let that happen.

She had raged in red hot fury when he had risen from the bed, pulling on his breeches and calling her out at her own game. Cersei had hurled projectiles, threatened him, blackmailed him. She even went so far as to suggest she would claim he forced himself upon her.

“Do not be foolish sister.” He had used the same dispassionate tone on her which their Father had recommended and had worked for him so often before. “With that lie you would ruin us both.”

He had left her to scream and tear at her dishevelled clothes, slamming the door shut in his wake. From that point forward they were severed.

But from here his life did not improve. His Father was engaged deep in talks of Jaime’s betrothal and his intended was far from the woman he would have chosen.

“Delay Father.” He pleaded, knowing his sire was difficult to sway but determined to try nonetheless. “Postpone – at least for a few years. Perhaps you can find a better match for me than the second born daughter of Hoster Tully. They say she has had a man before - I heard rumours to the extent during my time at Riverrun. In the interim I can focus on taking my place as Lord Lannister. Learning to lead our army. You and I both know the tourney at Harrenhal did not end on good terms.”

In this his Father had agreed, citing he would investigate the history of Lysa Tully further before committing Jaime to any marriage contracts.

“You will follow my orders without question and remember that our forces remain answerable to me - first and foremost - until my death. And when the time comes next to arrange your marriage, you will not balk at my choice. These are my conditions.”

The young lion had agreed, eager to avoid matrimony for at least the coming year. It was not long thereafter that Lord Tywin resigned from his position as Hand of the King. It amused Jaime greatly to note that if he had indeed buckled to Cersei’s wishes, he would have been stranded in the Capital alone whilst the rest of his family retreated to Casterly Rock. He was gladdened that he had not fallen victim to such folly.

The War of the Usurper began and Tywin controlled the Westerlands with an Iron Fist. Pledging himself to neither side and ‘waiting for the time to be ripe.’ It all felt like the worst variety of fence sitting to Jaime, making him uneasy. But he knew better than to question his father’s decisions and instead drilled with the army, taking command, endearing himself to the men and anxiously anticipating when they would ride out to play their part in shaping history.

As the month’s passed he became increasingly frustrated with the inaction, concerned they seemed craven or selfish.

“People are dying Father! We could alter the course of this war!”

“Necessary casualties.” His Father had not even looked up from his correspondence to properly address his son’s concerns. “We will move when I say and not a moment before. It will do you well to remember that_** I **_am still the head of our House.” He had dismissed Jaime with the same disinterest which you would a server. “That will be all.”

When the order finally came, it was at the eleventh hour. They stood beyond the gates of King’s Landing, an army at their back.

“Do we come as friend or foe to the King?” Jaime had queried, the first line forming across his brow as his sire remained sketchy when detailing their loyalty.

“The only House to which we truly owe fealty is our own.” Tywin had replied. “All other allegiances are temporary.”

The lesson was hammered home to the young Lord in violent fashion when the Gates were unlocked and his Father gave permission for the city to be sacked. Jaime wheeled his horse around, aghast at the carnage and sickened by the joy the men he had dined beside derived from their bloodlust.

“Father when does this cease? Are we issuing terms for a surrender? These smallfolk are blameless and unarmed – they do not stand a chance.”

“It will all be over soon enough.” Lord Tywin sat astride his horse with his head held high, unperturbed by the horrors he had unleashed on an unwitting population. “I have sent Ser Amory and Ser Gregor into the Keep; he will rip out what remains of the Dragon line root and stem.”

The Knight trotted his destrier in front of his Father’s horse, cutting off his path before he could depart. “The royal family? You sent those monsters after women and children?!”

“In war clemency is tantamount to irrationality – the Targaryen seed must be ended once and for all to ensure an indisputable new reign. They are the right men for the job. They will not falter where others would. They are not weak.” His appraised his son, disappointment and disgust evident in his ruthless eyes.

“It is not weakness to have empathy for your fellow man, it is not frailty to have a soul! I am a Knight – I swore vows to protect the innocent!”

“You are the future Lord of Casterly Rock!” His Father snarled, his trademark composure slipping as he was openly challenged by his son. “And if you are to follow in my footsteps you had best toughen up - for I did not raise a snivelling idealist.”

Two lions faced off – the older and the younger. Where once Jaime would have crumbled against the might of his senior, instead he rallied, roaring louder.

“I will NEVER be like you.”

Kicking his horse into a gallop he had thundered towards the Red Keep, determined to derail his Father’s vile plans. Even if it meant single combat with the Mountain.

Instead what he had found made him heave and he spilled the contents of his stomach across the chamber floor at the sight of the small bodies.

_I was too late…._

Disoriented and traumatised he stumbled through the halls looking for the culprits.

_I will rid the world of such atrocities - my father’s rabid dogs. They are not men, not from what I’ve just seen…_

He stopped dead as he heard a crazed voice, screaming out from the Throne Room. A wild animal in pain, a psychopath upon a rampage, a maniac clawing desperately at his last chance for life.

“Burn them all! Burn them in their homes, burn them in their beds, burn them in the streets. Burn them all!”

“It will be done Your Grace.” A second person spoke, obsequious to a sickening degree. “The wildfire caches are set all around the city, one word and every traitor in King’s Landing will perish.”

“BURN THEM ALL!”

Without hesitation Jaime raised his blade, bringing it down upon the servile minion the instant he emerged through the doors. Stepping over his fallen body, the Lion of Lannister stalked towards the Mad King, easily dispatching the lone Kingsguard who rose against him.

_Any man who would stand idly by and allow what they were planning does not deserve his life. _

_Though it is ironic, if I had accepted the position I would have been in his place._

The wretched creature which once resembled a King screeched, scratching his way up the stairs leading to the Iron Throne upon his hands and knees.

“Burn them all!” He continued to cry, crazed and without remorse.

Jaime had seen enough of men with power today, willing to destroy all those who obstructed their path to absolute control. _Tyrants._

Without a second thought Ser Jaime Lannister thrust his sword into the King’s back, drawing it back out again, hued in crimson, coated by blood. A foul stench filled the air as the former monarch’s bowels released in fear of death and Jaime drew the blade across his contemptible throat to ensure the job was done.

Weeks later a despondent lion sat in his Father’s solar. The marriage contract being given Tywin Lannister’s signature of approval.

“But she is no maid.” Jaime argued. “I can never hope to gain her love if it belongs to another.”

The older lord seemed almost gratified by his son’s displeasure.

“Although all your claims regarding her virtue are true, Lysa Tully is the best match you are likely to make.” He pressed his seal into the wax. “You ruined any hopes for your future when you took the Targaryen’s life into your own hands, _Kingslayer.”_

He emphasised Jaime’s new title - a slur against his name which fell readily from everyone’s lips.

“It was not your justice to dispense - however thanks to **_my_** efforts, His Grace King Robert Baratheon owes a debt of gratitude to House Lannister and has overlooked your presumption. Finding it in his best interests to grant you a pardon and wed your sister regardless of your disrespectful actions.” Ringing a small golden bell, he summoned a manservant, handing over the official parchment to be sent via raven.

“I am certain you will make Lady Lysa a fine husband.”

For years Jaime lived as if an island. A lone man even when the stronghold was full. His wife had no interest in him and he knew she entertained another.

Ofttimes he was glad for it - as he felt no compulsion to draw her close or claim her as his own.

Their handful of couplings were dutiful, flat and aided by copious amounts of alcohol, leaving him feeling filthy or tarnished as he knew they did not desire each other. Soon they even stopped trying for an heir, Jaime incurring endless rants from his Father about yet another of his failings. It saddened the lion deeply; he earnestly yearned to hold a cub of his own. To have at least one other soul in existence look up at him as though he was worth knowing.

His only companion had been Tyrion; but even his rapport with his brother had unravelled after Jaime realised the part he had unknowingly played in another of his Father’s brutal lessons years prior. Needing to come clean, he had confessed his role to Tyrion, shattering their brotherly bond and leaving Jaime more alone than ever before.

Upon visits to King’s Landing he watched his sister being Queen. Blessed with children thrice over he couldn’t help but resent how her wheeling and dealing had resulted in her happiness. Whilst he wasted away year after year without even a light at the end of the tunnel. 

Most night’s Jaime sat alone, staring up at the stars, with a glass of wine in hand. Isolating the aching quadrants of his heart that longed for passion and affection.

Sooner or later he had to resign himself to the fact that these two luxuries of emotion were afforded only to other men. He was fated to keep only his own company, without a mate, without issue until his dying breath.

Then a miracle happened. His wife was with child. After many long years her womb swelled and a babe was on the way.

Only Jaime knew – it couldn’t possibly be his. They hadn’t lain together for seasons.

He faced another difficult choice, to allow himself to be the cuckold and let his family believe a lie or to out his wife and make of himself a public fool. It was one thing when he turned a blind eye to her liaisons but quite another to claim a child as his own which was not. When Lysa’s pregnancy took a turn for the dangerous, she was confined to her bed chamber and Jaime had come knocking politely on her door.

“I’ve come to speak with you in the spirit of scrupulous honesty.”

“What can you possibly have to say to me?” Her voice was shrill, defiant. Ever since he became the Kingslayer she was as opposed to the match as he, only she was more openly vocal about it. Even all these years later civility in her conversations with him seemed an immense trial.

“I know the babe is not mine. It would be a physical impossibility.”

“What of it?” She raised her nose in the air, daring him to impeach upon her honour.

Jaime sat on the edge of the bed and she made a show of moving further away – for nobody’s benefit other than theirs as they were the sole witnesses. “Will the child call me Father? It will have to if I am to claim it.”

Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “No. My baby has a Father and you most certainly _**are not**_ him.”

“Lysa – you are making this game of political cyvasse very difficult for us to navigate. The baby will be a bastard if the world does not believe its mine and this is my only chance to have a child to call my own.” He hung his head. “Surely you cannot dislike me this greatly.”

“This babe –“ She patted her belly possessively. “Was made out of LOVE. And I will not have you hurt my man by coveting his offspring. I am telling you he will be the Father and I intend to tell him the good news as well.”

“My Lady…” Jaime shook his head, often unsure what realm his wife lived in. “… how do you truly imagine this course of action panning out in your favour?”

“GET OUT!” She shrieked, slapping at him in a sudden outburst. “You are not the man I want. GET OUT! Be gone from my sight! I do not want you in my chamber.”

As predicted by Jaime, her sentiments were not welcomed by the baby’s father. The staff informing him that the man disappeared without a trace in the night. 

For days Lysa’s mournful sobbing could be heard echoing throughout the entire east wing. Though somehow, she had managed to pin Jaime with the blame for his departure as well.

All too soon after her tribulations, Lysa went into labour. A long, drawn out ordeal which drained the life from her as she pushed the babe into the world. The Maester told him his wife was dying as he placed the infant in his arms – a tiny black-haired girl with eyes of Tully blue.

_There is not a passing chance anyone would believe this child is of my blood. _

He had taken her to meet her Mother, promising to look after her regardless of her parentage. Lysa lived only long enough to bestow a name upon her daughter before taking her final breath.

Propelled by necessity, Jaime had come clean to his Father. With the passing of his wife he no longer had to fear the retributions she may face for her adultery.

Tywin had been predictably devoid of emotion, instructing his son to cast the babe out or send her to the Tully’s - in the interest of maintaining what little dignity and respect he had left. It was not surprising that once again Jaime had disagreed with the senior Lannister and ignored his wishes.

Alayne Hill was an unsettled infant. She cried throughout most nights and refused to take the teat when offered by her Wet-nurse. But she never screamed more loudly than when Jaime tried to cuddle her. Rejection from even this tiny bundle stung the mighty lion more than it had any right to and many nights he found himself blinking away tears of his own as he passed her back to her carers.

It had been that way for months – so when the invitation to join the Tourney at Bitterbridge had arrived, it heralded an opportunity for a welcome distraction. The Lion Lord could only hope that the youngest Baratheon brother would be happy with his new Tyrell bride. But from the way he gazed past his new young wife to her brother in his rose bedecked plate, Jaime had his doubts.

_I suppose each has their own load to carry of burden and sacrifice. Deprivation and longing…_

The melee was declared open and Jaime hacked away at the remaining combatants, the scraping of steel against steel the closest he came to feeling alive and vigorous.

116 competitors had begun and now only twenty remained. They dropped like flies as he dodged warhammers and spears, each Knight bringing their own specialty weapon into the fray.

_I just may win this thing, wouldn’t that upset their applecart…_

Kicking away a steel greatsword, Jaime grinned triumphantly at his jape, his most recently downed foe a Fossoway, denoted by the outlines of fruit engraved into his armour.

The lion turned cockily, ready to face his next attacker only to see the flash of a blunted Morningstar perfectly aimed at his head. 

His skull rang inside his helm as he fell sideways into the mud. Bright lights bursting behind his eyeslids as the ache reverberated throughout his cranium. The smell of damp and trodden earth filling his nostrils as he registered just how quickly he had been vanquished.

The wielder gave him a solid kick, ensuring he was staying down and conceding before moving on to the next unlucky victim.

Jaime sank defeatedly further into the mud, astounded at how his entire battle had come to an end with a single crushing blow.

_Strength of a Clegane, aim of an archer, speed of – well me. I must learn the identity of this extraordinary victor and shake his hand…._


	3. When Two Collided

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _With complete indignance he tilted his chin to look her square in the eye. “You know, most men would fall all over themselves to receive such words of praise from me. They may despise me for my acts but I am still the best swordsmen in the land, yet you stand here unmoved.”_
> 
> _Brienne grit her teeth, clearly frustrated that he was still in her personal space. “Perhaps your commendations would hold more gravity if I knew who you were.”_
> 
> _“Jaime Lannister.” He blinked, breathing him name simply and without titles._
> 
> _“The Kingslayer?”_
> 
> _“Aha. There you go. ‘Brienne the Beauty.’”_

Jaime sat in his pavilion, dousing water through his sweat soaked hair. His squires fussed over his dented armour as the Lannister Lord dismissed their concerns with a chuckle.

“I will have a new suit made – it is of little consequence.”

Slicking back his drenched locks, he couldn’t help but be entertained at the turn the afternoon had taken.

The winner of the melee had indeed been the Warrior’s incarnate who felled Jaime with a single blow. Instead of being outraged, he had been impressed and crowded around in eager wonder to watch the champion’s identity be revealed.

It turned out he had come third, which meant he hadn’t entirely disgraced himself and received a bird’s eye view of the prize ceremony.

The honour of second went to the Knight of Flowers and Renly cheered all the more loudly when that was announced.

But the tall solider in mismatched armour, clutching the blunted Morningstar was the real surprise. When the helmet was removed, shoulder length blonde hair tumbled out and an audible gasp resonated throughout the spectators as they registered that it was a woman.

_Well, I hope that was the reason for their reaction. _

She was a masculine sort of female, towering over the surrounding men and in many cases boasting broader shoulders and larger muscles. Freckles spattered across her cheeks and clearly she had a lot of practice in arm to arm combat for her nose showed evidence of being broken more than once. Full lips covered her oversized mouth which was set in a dour expression, even as she was being praised as the victor.

_Alright, she is unattractive but Seven Hells the woman can fight._

Lord Renly addressed her with familiarity, naming her Lady Brienne of Tarth. From beside him Jaime heard sniggers and the nickname ‘Brienne the Beauty’ being thrown around in mock. From the derogatory tone it was not intended as a compliment. He was all too familiar with such slights. Generally it was ‘Kingslayer’ which he overheard.

_They can nurse their bruised egos along with their broken bones. _

His heart had bled for her then as Renly asked what she desired as a prize.

“The right to Squire My Lord, so I may begin my path to earn a Knighthood.” Her voice was low, articulate and clear. The inflections of noble birth resonate in every clean note. Then Robert had guffawed loudly and others had hastily followed the King’s lead.

“Renly!" He boomed. “As amusing as that was - remind the big woman she has teats! Women have their uses yes, but Knighthood isn’t one of them. Seven Hells! Can you imagine if they all started carrying swords?” Murmurs of assent echoed throughout the crowd.

“I desire nothing more than to serve. To take my vows and pledge my sword as a solider and a Knight would. I have shown my strength and earnt my place amongst the men. Without being granted the stages of Knighthood I cannot even participate further in this tourney. Only Knights and Squires may ride to joust.”

She plead her case eloquently but she may as well have been addressing a herd of pigs.

Renly smiled sympathetically but had not the balls to contradict his brother.

“Pick something else My Lady – perhaps a new destrier or a purse of coin? Take your time, consider it. Your decision does not have to be made right away.”

It was then that Jaime noticed her blue eyes, previously they had been aflame with determination, but with that simple phrase their fires guttered out.

Absentmindedly the lion lord’s fingers travelled to the bump on the side of his head. He felt a little woozy but knew he had fared far better than most the competitors. Taken of a sudden whim, he rose to his feet and exited through the tent flap, leaving his gaping Squire’s in his wake.

()()()()()()

It did not take long to find the Lady of Tarth’s pavilion; it was small and sequestered away from all the rest, lacking the finery and size of the other colourful marquees.

_Either the men think estrogen is catching or they are genuinely afraid of her. _

Jaime had no such qualms, approaching the entrance and calling in. “Are you decent My Lady? I would offer you congratulations.”

The fabric was whipped back and she glowered at him suspiciously. “Do you mean to mock me Ser?”

“In truth no – though I can see how you would mistake it as such. We have not met before but I could sense the great amity between yourself and the other combatants.”

He grinned wolfishly and stretched on tiptoes to try and peer over her shoulder. “It would be polite to ask me in. Considering I am a damn sight giddier than in general and I have it on good authority it is your fault.”

Spotting a water pitcher on a small stand he brushed past her without waiting for invitation, enjoying the shocked expression which graced her severe demeanour. He poured himself a cup and not forgetting his manners repeated the process for her, offering her the refreshment as he downed his own. “Apologies, I am in recovery mode.”

He watched her frown, confusion and bewilderment warring on her readable features. “Am I supposed to know you Ser?”

“Not at all, though my reputation precedes me in most instances.” Looking down at his simple linen shirt, he realised that for once the Lion of Lannister was not proudly emblazoned upon his every garment. “You might know me as the ‘second runner-up’ or more accurately, that fellow you almost bludgeoned to death with one fell swoop.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “Apologies Ser, I did try and make it swift.”

“Mission accomplished. Don’t worry – I know I got off lightly. I have heard the others complaining.”

“I needed you out of the way. I had a score to settle. You simply got caught in the crossfire. Though that is the way of things in a melee.”

“Indeed. You’re first?”

“How did you know?”

“That level of enthusiasm, your eagerness to display your brute strength. Clearly a person who has something to prove.” Looking around, Jaime suddenly registered that they were alone. No squires dotted about and her armour was only half removed. Her legs and one arm having been freed whilst the rest remained steel clad. “Where are your attendants?”

“I do not have any. I squire for myself.”

“That must be taxing. I have not had to remove my own armour for years.”

“Did you come here just to boast and subject me to your snobbery or was there a purpose to your impromptu visit?” She was annoyed, he could see it in the way her ears flamed red. He found something about it appealing.

“Yes, there was.” He placed his cup down and leant against the small table. “I was awe inspired by your performance My Lady…” She winced at the title and he realised he’d struck a nerve. “Is there a way you would prefer I address you?”

“If my request had been granted - yes, but as the laws of the land are inflexible Lady Brienne I shall remain. Regardless of my thoughts on the topic.”

“They knocked you back rather brutally didn’t they? Pointless really. If you ask me it makes little matter what resides in your breeches, if you can wield a sword even half as effectively as you can that Morningstar they should Knight you on the spot.”

Instead of delight at his approval her homely face darkened with suspicion. “You are aware the bet was cancelled? The funds voided and dispersed, so you can dispense with this false flattery.”

“I must confess, I have no idea what you are talking about although it all sounds quite dastardly. I only arrived yesterday and find myself out of the loop.”

“You would have me believe your compliments are genuine?”

“Why else would I pay them?”

She shot him a pointed and doubtful look before striding to the exit. Holding the material open she gestured for him to go. “I thank you for your congratulations on my victory Ser, even if they were expressed in a roundabout manner. I would ask you to take your leave.”

Aghast and offended, his tongue took on its snarky quality. “You are kicking me out? After all those nice things I said? Surely my idle chatter cannot have made you this prickly. Would you have preferred it if I’d said you are boring as you are plain and please by the Seven in the future keep your helmet on for it will cause less offence.”

“I would be more like to believe such words.” She still held the material open and stared him down undeterred.

Jaime moved to oblige - _unfriendly wench, making allies is clearly not high on her priority list – _but stopped himself in front of her.

With complete indignance he tilted his chin to look her square in the eye. “You know, most men would fall all over themselves to receive such words of praise from me. They may despise me for my acts but I am still the best swordsmen in the land, yet you stand here unmoved.”

Brienne grit her teeth, clearly frustrated that he was still in her personal space. “Perhaps your commendations would hold more gravity if I knew who you were.”

“Jaime Lannister.” He blinked, breathing him name simply and without titles.

“The Kingslayer?”

“Aha. There you go. ‘Brienne the Beauty.’”

Now steam was practically billowing out her ears and she dropped the tent flap.

“Do not ever call me that again.”

“Why? You used my offensive title, why should I not use yours?”

“Because you killed a King. It is true. I on the other hand am the furthest thing from a Beauty.”

Holding up both hands, Jaime signalled a truce. “How about we agree that I do not use your slur, if you refrain from using mine.”

He watched her working her jaw, like a cow chewing its cud. “If I’d known who you were I would not have made it so easy.”

“And I would have enjoyed the challenge.” Folding his arms, he tried to ignore his racing pulse. There was something about their verbal repartee which excited him just as much as the heat of battle. “I sought you out in truth as I wished to make you an offer.”

“What kind of offer could you – Lord Lannister- possibly extend to me?”

“An opportunity. I know you desire to ride in the joust in two days. I’m guessing it is just for the experience and practice. Now King Robert has clearly kyboshed your aspirations but that does not mean you cannot compete.”

“How?”

“Take my place. After the melee today I am feeling rattled and quite poorly. I have no further desire to make an idiot of myself by being unhorsed by some tulip Knight wearing posies. I am yet to withdraw from the ranks and if you wish to ride in my place I won’t. We look about the same size and sitting a horse the height difference will not be noticeable. You can borrow my armour and no one will be any the wiser.”

“That is absurd.”

“But on the table nonetheless.”

Brienne paced, treading the same stretch of dirt beneath their feet. Her heavy boot-prints becoming numerous and intermingling with each other as she worried at her lip. After a great amount of contemplation she turned around to look directly at him.

“It cannot work. When I am unhorsed – which is likely as I have never ridden to joust before – you will look to be bested anyway. It will affect your reputation.”

Jaime shrugged. “I wager you will fare better than I would. You have more to prove. It is unlikely given my age I would win but I am confident you will take me at least to the point I would myself.”

“And the opposite – if I win? Am I to let you take the credit?”

She folded her strong arms, one in mail and one in leather, testing him. Just waiting for him to play the egotistical male and say she must let him claim the victory.

“Then you wait until the last minute and reveal yourself. We can have a great laugh and prove them all to be idiots. I do enjoy causing a scandal, it keeps life interesting.”

“We would be in direct defiance of the King.”

“My Father is Tywin Lannister and my own sweet sister is the Queen. My position is untouchable and I will be sure to state that it was all my idea – which they will believe as I have diabolical notoriety.” He took three steps forward, closing the distance between them. “The choice is yours My Lady. It simply depends on how much you want this.”

“May I think it over? Can I ask that you not withdraw from the lists until I have given it proper consideration?”

“Yes. I can countenance that.” With a reverent bow he strode to the exit, feeling quite pleased with himself and enjoying her company more than he cared to admit.

_Ask – what do you have to lose? _

“One more thing…”

“Yes, Ser Jaime?” She tried hard to remain neutral but he could see her addled expression lurking just beneath the surface.

“Why don’t we meet up to discuss it at the Archery tournament tomorrow. I did not see your name listed as competing…”

“I’m not. I have not a talent for the bow.”

“Me either. Meet me by the enlistment stand at noon. We can look over the final competitors for the joust and make a more informed decision.”

Before she could refuse he dashed into the daylight, disappearing behind the endless rows of tents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimer: I am not an expert on the rules for entering Jousts but if movies have taught me anything only Knights are allowed. If that is erroneous, it is on me but for the purposes of the story it stands. LOL


	4. Designed by the Gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _His blood sang as their blades duelled. Whirling and ducking, parrying and pressing their aim. Her blows were fierce and he was constantly impressed by how much strength she possessed. He had never met a fighter who could match him with a sword and now he faced a woman who not only kept him on his toes but had actually gotten the better of him. It was like receiving all of his nameday gifts at once, wrapped up into one forbidding package.___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know for our leading couple Slow Burn is a favoured approach.  
But for this particular tale I have been given the prompt of 'Soulmate AU'.  
In this divergence of canon, I look at the concept of Soulmates as another person whom your soul instinctually recognises as the other half of your heart, your destiny and fated counterpart.  
Therefore, everything comes in a whirlwind - think Romeo & Juliet, or the Before Sunrise movie franchise where in just a short space of time they were able to fall heavily for each other.  
In other words - things are about to speed up :)

“I still do not understand.” They sat in the stalls under the pretence of watching the archery, though in truth they were conversing readily and paying little attention to the scores. “You are the Kingslayer – to do this for me is in direct contrast to your general motivation.”

Jaime chuckled and threw his head back, contemplating the great expanse of the sky. His grin whiter than the clouds above on this clear day.

“Tell me Wench –“ He had taken to calling her by the nickname whenever she made a Kingslayer reference. True to her word she did not use it to directly address him but the implication remained. “-What are my motivations? It would be quite handy to know what is perceived about me.”

Brienne studied her hands, clasped in her lap. “I have spoken out of turn.”

She was a rare sight, like a warrior maid from distant Sothoryos, clad in doeskin breeches and leather tunic.

_There are men here dressed in more frills and flounces than she._

“Don’t backtrack now… you do not grasp me as craven. Tell me.”

She curled one long leg beneath her as she turned to face him. Serious blue eyes meeting green.

“You crave attention and power. You have little regard for others and will do what you please to serve your own ends. You and your father only joined the fighting when the war had been decided, incurring greatest glory at the minimal cost, when hundreds of lives could have been spared from earlier intervention. King’s Landing was sacked - entirely without honour - for entrance was gained to the capital via deceit and treachery. Then to further cement your position you rode headlong to the Red Keep and slew the unarmed King by the foot of his own throne. Denying him the right to trial and the opportunity for King Robert to mete out the sentence himself. Robbing him of his rightful victory and claiming the historical act as your own.”

The lion favoured her with a wry smile. “Is that how it went? How I wish it were so simple.”

Tilting her head to the side she analysed his expression with a wisdom beyond her years. “Are you implying it’s inaccurate?”

“Would you believe my version of events?”

“All I know Ser Jaime is that life is seldom straightforward. Even if you do not go out of your way to court trouble, somehow it ends up finding you.”

“Spoken like a woman who has experienced such firsthand.” He caught her scowl and spluttered with laughter. “What? You cannot seriously expect me to refer to you as a man. While I admit you have barely any teats to speak of, I do have faith your gender is female.”

Her eyes narrowed and she fidgeted nervously, crossing her arms to obscure his view. “I would appreciate it, if you did not spend your time contemplating my chest.”

“And I would appreciate it, if you didn’t seem offended by every syllable I utter.”

“When you look as I do Ser, it is second nature to be affronted. Every fourth word is generally an insult and those phrases that masquerade as compliments are often the most cutting of all.”

“What a miserable pair we make.” He stifled a yawn, Alayne had been restless throughout the night again and he had only snatched broken sleep.

“Are you finding my conversation dull?”

“What? No! There you go again.”

“But you are yawning Ser Jaime. You find my company tedious. I cannot blame you, I know I am not of scintillating wit.”

“It is not you – I assure you. My dau-“ He stopped himself, unable to disobey her mother’s wishes.

_Even from the grave Lysa has more claim to her than I ever will. _

“My ward -" Jaime corrected himself. "She has not yet seen the turn of eight moons. She pines for the Mother she never knew and often keeps me up. I could leave her to her minders but her distress troubles me.”

Brienne’s face softened, conveying a sincerity of empathy which few could muster. “Did her mother pass in the birthing bed?”

“Yes. My wife – Lysa.”

“Your wife?” Her eyes widened to saucers. “I am sorry for your loss My Lord….”

She tread carefully as she composed her next statement. Inquisitiveness spurring her toward impudence. It conjured a smugness within him.

_A short stint in my company and already her mouth is corrupt. _

“…. but you referred to her as your ward – not your daughter.”

“I did.” He rewarded her tenacity with honesty. “Alayne is not of my flesh.” He reddened slightly at the admission, but his Father had insisted upon it.

_‘I will not have a bastard mistaken for a Lannister. As an individual you may look the fool, but you will not bring disgrace upon our family name. It is a legacy which belongs to many – not just you.’ _

He had complied to a degree, addressing the issue of her parentage only when directly asked. Although the baby was fussy, Jaime also adored her and lived in constant fear that one day the Trouts of Riverrun would acknowledge the adulteress quality of their kin and lay claim to the child.

_If they take her away from me – then what will I have? _

“You care for her regardless?” The Maid of Tarth’s innocuous enquiry interrupted his reverie.

“Of course. She is wholly innocent. She cannot be held to blame. The shortcomings belong to the adults involved, not the child. She should not suffer as a result.”

A comfortable silence stretched between them as Brienne processed this piece of information.

_What is she thinking? Am I a fool to her now? Or someone to be pitied? _

“Ser Jaime…” Her calm voice pulled him out of his downward spiral. “If you wanted to contradict the tale known to the masses. I do think I would take you at your word – if you chose to confide in me.”

At this his heart swelled and he watched the arrows fly as he quietly beamed. Every second he had spent in her company thus far had resulted in him basking in this strange euphoric state.

_And I do not wish for it to end._

Jaime’s quicksilver mind ran in rings of devious thoughts, keen to orchestrate a ploy which would extend their time together.

“You know – I hate archers and this just may be the most boring event in a tourney. But I’m sure we can make it more interesting.”

“How?”

“A wager.” He looked back at her before inclining his head towards the competition below. “If the Florent wins – you will tell me exactly what half the men in that melee did to incite your wrath. But if the archer from House Grandison emerges triumphant – I will tell you what happened during the Sack of King’s Landing.”

She went to grin - a rare sight which exposed her horsey teeth - but quickly stopped herself. “You will have to sit here with me a long time Ser – they are far from determining the winner. This round has just begun.”

Jaime inclined back in his seat, leaning his arms casually against the empty bench above. “Then we had best keep talking.”

“Alright.” Brienne acquiesced, a little too easily for the argumentative Wench he had come to know in just this short space of time. The lion wondered if perhaps he imagined the slight flush of pink which stained her cheeks.

_You are deluding yourself Lannister, surely she is getting a touch of the sun. _

()()()()()()

“This is far more stimulating.” Jaime tossed his sword from hand to hand, bending his knees and inviting her to rush him. “Why would anyone choose the bow? It is repetitive and tedious. Swordplay is for those who live life to its fullest.”

Sweat plastered his blonde locks to his brow but he was far from fatigued. Thrice already they had danced, twice he had emerged the winner.

Brienne had thought that should have concluded their bout but the lion believed differently.

“There are Knights of legend who could never dream of besting me and yet here I stand having yielded a round. I will not be put to rights until I have disarmed you.”

“My sword is an extension of my arm. You would have to dismember me Kingsl- Ser Jaime.” The slip of her tongue was almost cheeky.

_As is thinking about her tongue…._

His blood sang as their blades duelled. Whirling and ducking, parrying and pressing their aim. Her blows were fierce and he was constantly impressed by how much strength she possessed. He had never met a fighter who could match him with a sword and now he faced a woman who not only kept him on his toes but had actually gotten the better of him. It was like receiving all of his nameday gifts at once, wrapped up into one forbidding package.

“What about our wager?” Jaime taunted, sidestepping her thrust with an agile grace. He was swift where she was mighty; and he winced as she rammed him with her shoulder.

“I assumed it was forfeit?” She blew a strand of lank flaxen hair from her mouth. “It was you who withdrew us from spectating when the scores were even.”

“That does not mean I wished to call off our bet.” Their crossed blades rang out with a constant metallic clangour and they had to raise their voices to hear each other. “It simply changed the terms. I think now the victor here should claim the spoils.”

“I did not agree to that!” The notion of losing inspired her to push harder. “You cannot change the conditions as it suits you Ser, that is advantageous.”

His grin was wicked. “Far be it from me to take advantage of a Lady.”

With an enraged grunt she lunged at him, the vigour of her momentum bringing her in too close and Jaime hastily pinned her blade below his own, tangling her in his arms. Reflexively she lashed out, kicking his ankles from under him, but Jaime’s grip around her was firm and they both went tumbling backwards to the ground. Their blades flew right and left as they scrambled for purchase in the dust, each yanking and tearing at the other as they struggled to rise and retrieve their weapon. Brienne landed a well-placed punch to his jaw, making stars burst in front of his eyes as she crawled on hands and knees towards her sword.

“No – you don’t wench!” There was laughter through his pain as he grabbed her leg, launching himself on top of her and stopping her escape. But she flipped over at the last minute, locking corded thighs of pure steel around his waist and rolling them until their positions were switched and he was pinned beneath her. 

That was when time suspended. Their whole world slowing to a stop. Chests heaving, perspiration dotting their skin, their faces inches apart. Try as he may, words did not exist in Jaime’s vocabulary which could describe the magnetism that passed between them. Nothing he could conceive could do this moment justice. It was as if every way he had felt drawn to her over the last day, amplified threefold.

The sizzle of their connection was electric – like the air after a bolt of lightning. Charged and static. Hairs stood on end and their hearts thundered against their ribcages, pounding a rhythm in tandem with such force he felt it through their leathers. The very atmosphere between them seemed to crackle and Jaime could imagine sparks being struck just as easily against their conjoined torsos as when their swords kissed. The quality of their combined kinetic friction enough to make the world combust.

Oxygen seemed superfluous, as his breath trapped in his lungs. Her cerulean eyes taking him prisoner, a captive who never wished to be freed.

Cautiously he brought his hand to her neck, fingertips brushing against the gooseflesh which prickled her skin, even though its surface was clammy and heated. Brienne seemed to convulse at his touch, leaning ever so subtly into his palm, her lips parting as she exhaled, the breath it produced sounding rather like a sigh.

It all felt so right. So predestined. Jaime had never experienced a bond like this before. An instant rapport and welcoming of spirit which felt like coming home. He had been a wandering soul on a journey in the blackest of voids, now after years of suffering out in the harsh cold, he had finally found his way back to her blazing hearth. Where he belonged. 

Leaning upwards he brought his mouth to hers, longing to taste the full sweetness of her lips. Somehow knowing they were meant for him. But his kiss only met empty air as she fled. Tearing herself from his prone form, leaving his leathers cooling and his body aching for her touch.


	5. Right Time, Right Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was swiping dust from his breeches when he heard the muffled shriek. His ears pricking upwards and his blood solidifying to glaciers of ice in his veins. His instincts screaming truths he couldn’t possibly know from this distance.
> 
> _It’s her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caution - drama ahead.
> 
> Trust with these two is earnt through action – not through pretty words and empty promises.  
And for lovelorn souls who need a nudge – there is always a catalyst.

He was swiping dust from his breeches when he heard the muffled shriek. His ears pricking upwards and his blood solidifying to glaciers of ice in his veins. His instincts screaming truths he couldn’t possibly know from this distance.

_It’s her. _

Retrieving his discarded sword from the ground he flexed his grip on the pommel, closing his eyes and homing in on even the slightest sound of disturbance.

The afternoon breeze riffled his hair, carrying with it the applause and cheers in the distance as an archer’s arrow found its mark.

Then footfalls, thumps. The distinctive signs of a scuffle.

Jaime broke into a run, his long strides eating up the ground as he trained his gaze on a shadowed laneway.

_I have already squandered too much time, I should have watched where she went. She is unarmed…._

He burst onto the scene and his stomach dropped to his feet. One man lay sprawled on the cobblestones, knocked out cold. Two others struggled to hold Brienne’s strong arms as she thrashed fiercely in their grasp. A third bled profusely from his head, hurling obscenities as he advanced towards her.

She was frightened but she was ferocious, smashing down on one of her assailant’s insteps and delivering a swift elbow to his gut. Battling to the bitter end, for her virtue, for her life. Blood trickled from her nostril and a dark bruise formed on her cheek. Her clothing was dishevelled, and Jaime knew it would be removed before their vile deeds were done. 

The lion had heard and seen enough. He knew what was going on. Recognised these four as the worst variety of cowards from the melee.

_They cannot best her in the field, so they will violate her when she least expects it. _

He was chilled to think they had been waiting for her. Only a stone’s throw from her little tent. Perhaps they had been watching them, waiting for her to be alone. Repugnance roared as viscous hatred, boiling in his system.

_If this is brought to trial, they will defend each other. I will make sure they don’t get that chance. _

Stepping from the shade, he bade them draw their steel. His blade a blur of golden edged doom, skilful, deft and accurate.

_Three against one hardly seems fair - for them. _

This time Brienne would watch him duel with death, balancing upon the precipice as he had so many times before. Aiming for the kill, unwilling to take any prisoners. But this time he fought with greater purpose.

_She is worth every risk. _

()()()()()()()

“Ser Jaime Lannister – you are charged with brawling, resulting in the deaths of Harry Sawyer, Robin Potter, Richard Farrow and Ben Bushy.”

King Robert looked pained, already severely inebriated and far more interested in continuing the festivities than punishing his brother-in-law. But regardless of his chagrin, the laws of the land had to be upheld and the great hall of Bitterbridge Castle was already crammed with nobles howling for justice. Lord Renly sat in a high seat beside his brother, seemingly quite unperturbed by the numerous dramas unfolding as a result of his wedding celebrations. 

_In truth I only slew three of them - the fourth died from a blow to the head. _

Jaime kept quiet about that particular detail, now knowing it must have been Brienne who had rammed the Farrow’s head into a stone wall when she was first accosted.

_Good for her. _

The Maid of Tarth stood to the sidelines, her eyes haunted but none the worse for wear. They had not spoken since the alleyway was swarmed with guards. Her cheek was swollen and deep purple. A gash sliced just above her lip, where a ringed fist has connected with her face. The rivulet of red from her nose had been swiped away as best she could and she clutched a blood soaked handkerchief in her hand, mopping sporadically as it flowed anew. 

“Your Grace, I do not deny the charges of their deaths, but I was not inciting a riot. Those four came looking for trouble and instead to their detriment they crossed paths with me.”

“Nevertheless Lannister, lives were lost. Those men were Knights of minor houses and now their blood soaks the pavement.”

“I can appreciate the status of their birthright, it’s just a pity they didn’t act in accordance to their Knightly codes.”

Shockwaves of horror and appal rippled through the crowd. Behind him he heard the expected slanders of ‘Kingslayer’ and ‘man without honour.’

_Let them judge, they do not know. If it is all to end for me tonight then so be it – I will not regret taking up her cause. My finest act has been keeping those degenerates away from her._

A strange serenity washed over him, like a cool rain on a midsummer’s eve as he recalled how she had snatched up a fallen sword and moved to join him. Watching his back, fighting as one.

_Those fuckers never stood a chance._

“Your Grace, My Lord.” Brienne’s voice crashed into the din as waves upon the sand. Unstoppable and brooking no argument as she strode forward. “I have evidence to add in Ser Jaime’s defence.”

He shot her daggers with his eyes, emerald shards hoping to pierce that mulish, principled exterior and convince her to think wisely and shut her mouth.

_I did all this for you, pigheaded wench, there is no need to throw us both to the wolves._

If she felt the impact of his penetrating gaze, she showed no reaction, instead stepping slightly in front of him and addressing the Baratheon brothers. “Lord Lannister is guilty of naught but coming to my defence. I regret to admit that my brothers-at-arms whom I defeated in the melee in fair combat did not feel as though my victory was deserving. They ambushed me when I was unarmed and returning to my pavilion. Their intentions were of the most dishonourable variety towards a woman and if Ser Jaime had not intervened, you would be hearing a vastly different testimony from myself this evening. If I had lived to tell the tale.” Humiliation burnt red splotches on her cheeks but she squared her shoulders and endured the embarrassment. Her attempts to liberate him simultaneously destroying all credibility she had built as a warrior and a soldier. Allowing herself to be viewed as a vulnerable woman, requiring a man to rush to her rescue.

“I know Lady Brienne and her Father well Robert.” Renly leaned over in his chair to address his brother. “She is upstanding and would not speak untruths.”

“But seriously Renly? Look at her! What would they want with a sow like that?” The King spoke a tad too loudly and Jaime was filled with an overwhelming desire to smack the disrespectful look from his monarch’s face.

A bald gentleman stepped from the crowd, wearing a stern expression and a striding huntsman on his cloak. “I can vouch to the validity of her claims. I have been made aware of such indecorous intent amongst the ranks.” He glared at Brienne and she withered under his scrutiny. “This is what comes of allowing a woman to step outside her bounds.”

“Thank you, Lord Tarly.” Robert excused him with a wave and he melted back into the crowd. “Well Lannister, this certainly puts a different spin on things, however unlikely it seems.” The King chuckled whilst Jaime silently fumed. “But what am I supposed to do with you now?”

“Lord Renly…” The Maid of Tarth focussed her attention on the King’s Brother. “As Master of Laws I know it is your duty to advise the King in these matters. I thank you humbly for your faith in my word and implore of you one last boon.” She glanced over her shoulder at the golden lion. “Commend Ser Jaime to be pardoned of these crimes tonight. For the blood he spilt in my virtue’s name. If you can find it in your wisdom to grant this request, I would claim it as my reward for winning the melee and ask nothing further.”

The gesture was huge and extremely public. The desperation in her tone unmistakable.

_This glorious, frustrating, incredible woman – that prize was her sole leverage towards achieving her dream of Knighthood. And she would throw it all away on me…._

“Robert?” Renly looked to his brother. “A death sentence is justifiable punishment for rapers - only in this instance it was thwarted before any permanent damage could be done. The severity of this incident can go towards being a deterrent to any further misconduct for the duration of the tourney and hereafter. I say given the credibility of the testimonies and the generous offer of our melee champion we should issue a pardon and get on with the merriment. The families surely cannot object given the revelations that have come to light – that would be to condone plotting wilful violation against a noble Lady.”

The King slapped his knee in approval, glad to be given an easy out. “Well that settles it. This entire sorry situation can be put to bed and I get to avoid a lengthy conversation with Lord Tywin.” He fixed his good-brother with a warning look. “Ser Jaime – you are hereby granted a royal pardon for the crime of brawling resulting in the aforementioned deaths. However – I would caution you to steer clear of the deceased’s relations. They will not look as favourably upon your acts of chivalry as the rest of the court.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Jaime nearly choked on the words, his voice sounding strangled and ingenuine even to his own ears.

He plastered on a smile which didn’t touch his eyes, oozing false gratitude as he waited for the crowd to disperse. Still raging internally at the King’s blatant disregard for Brienne and her feelings.

_She may be unsightly, but her heart is spun gold. _

“Lannisters.” King Robert shook his head in dismay. “That family could drive a man to drink.”

()()()()()()()

Jaime lingered outside the Great Hall, eyeing the conversation across the corridor. An inexplicable envy knotting his gut as Brienne spoke in hushed tones to Lord Renly. He knew he had no right to feel this way – his jealousy and possession a sudden plague, wracking his system and painting his life in a different hue.

_Once my life was red, Lannisters and blood. _

_Then black and bleak with loneliness from which there was no reprieve. _

_Now everywhere I look is blue – tranquil waters, rolling sky. Eyes of a Maiden that I wish would turn and meet my own. _

_You need not look to him My Lady; you need not owe him your gratitude. I would gladly have died for you…._

The admission rocked even himself. That he would earnestly toss his own life aside in an instant to spare this ethereal creature pain.

_Humanity has always hunted that which they did not understand. The dragons are gone now, as are the giants. Man harms what they fear, be it majestic beasts or gentle warrior Maids, who hide behind steel to guard their tender hearts…._

As he continued to watch, his blue hue morphed to green and his lips pouted like a petulant child.

_Envy – a confounded emotion, a writhing verdant snake to coil around my gut. A senseless monster whom when left unchecked only knows how to run rampant. _

The lion wrinkled his nose, taking in the Lordlings forest green attire.

_He wears the colour often enough - how befitting. But if it is emeralds she craves, that too I can give her. In the riches of our mines, or in my eyes…. _

_In a short space of time they have learnt to seek only one woman…._

Then she came towards him and all his nonsense ebbed away.

“My Lady…” He bowed deeply, showing utmost courtesy. All to aware they had not spoken since his failed attempt to steal a kiss.

“Ser Jaime.”

“Will you walk with me?”

“I shall.”

He ushered her away from the milling, gossiping masses. Their need to talk eclipsing the fresh rumours they would spawn with their synchronised departure.

“How are you feeling?”

“Relieved.” Her shoulders sagged as if the burden had been eased by just this question. “My Lord you could have been put to death.”

“So be it. It is a meaningless life I lead and I have always lived by my sword. When contemplating valiant ways to die, I think that outcome ranked highly. I should like to leave this world knowing it was in defence of a Maid.”

“And how in good conscience do you imagine I could live with myself thereafter?”

“You could manage. Dismiss me as a fool. In no time whatsoever you will have forgotten the day and half that you knew the Kingslayer. The truth would fade like smoke in the wind. Replaced only with doubt and what people said about me.”

“If you think that is true, then I am sad to say, you know little of me Ser.”

“Let me discover more then.”

The plea tumbled from his lips before he could filter it. Raw, unbridled and real.

She lowered her head, suddenly fascinated by the way her boots connected with the floorboards and Jaime cursed himself for being too forward once again.

_At least she can be in no doubt of my enamour. _

Clearing his throat, he began conversation anew. “I saw you chatting with Lord Renly. I hope you passed along my thanks, though I suspect it was more his esteem for you which caused him to speak in my favour. Do you know each other well?”

“He visited Evenfall once when I was a girl. The Baratheon’s are our liege Lords, we swear fealty to Storm’s End.”

“Ah yes. That makes sense. Though it doesn’t explain your familiarity and veneration….”

“I admire Lord Renly very much, he is a kind and fair man. Though I must confess my regard for him slipped when he could not see past tradition and conformity to allow me to pursue Knighthood.”

“Given his own proclivities I would have thought him more forward thinking.”

If Brienne knew to what he referred, she gave no indication. “The Master of Laws could correct many injustices; however I fear Renly’s interests reside in more personal pursuits.” 

“Yes - like plucking Roses I would believe.” His eyes sparked as she frowned at him. “His wife of course.”

“Lord Jaime, I am not naïve of his preferences but I do not judge him. He was kind to me once, overlooking my peculiarities and I in return intend to do the same.” Stopping in place she levelled him with her logical stare. “I know what it is you are wondering and not impertinent enough to ask me Ser Jaime. I do not deny that I have a fondness for Lord Renly but I harbour no romantic fantasies towards him. Love comes in many forms – and my predilection for that particular person is borne out of appreciation and respect.”

“Well put My Lady. I am sufficiently humbled.”

“Do not declare things which are impossible.”

At that he laughed heartily, the process cathartic as it released the pent-up tensions of the last several hours.

When the bubbles of amusement subsided, his voice dropped an octave, conveying his seriousness as he reached gently for her arm.

“Lady Brienne – stay with me tonight. I swear an oath by all the Seven I will not make any move which would bring you dishonour. I just… fear for your safety after today and I would rest easier knowing you were within my sights.”

“It is I who should be concerned for your well-being Ser Jaime. There are four families whom would gladly spill your blood in retribution for their kin. But alas, although I do trust in your word that you do not seek to ruin me – my presence in your chamber alone is enough to find me guilty by word of mouth and public opinion. No living soul would believe I had not climbed into your bed as a way of expressing my gratitude.”

“That would be quite counter-productive to defending your chastity though wouldn’t it?”

“Sadly, not many think the way we do, Ser. Their turns of mind are vicious and I am already a lamb to their slaughter after that trial.”

“Then I suppose this is where we say goodnight.”

For a long pause, both stood immobile, neither making any move to leave.

Finally Brienne inhaled a long breath, pressing a hand to her swollen cheek as she took two steps down the hall. Jaime watched as her legs quivered beneath her, the trauma and injuries of the day catching up with her tired body.

_She should call a Maester but I know she won’t – independent spirit that she is._

“Ser Jaime-”

Her voice was soft – very much the girl when compared to the fearsome woman she presented by day – a shy glimpse of the youth and timidity she sheltered within.

“- mayhaps you could come to my quarters instead.”


	6. A Reprieve from Solitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Should a woman who places so much value in her modesty really ask that question to a man sitting on her bed?”_   
_He raised his eyebrows at her over the rim of the cup as he sipped, favouring her with an unobstructed view of his mischievous green eyes. “It really is too tempting."_
> 
> _“When she has come to place faith in the honour of this particular individual’s word – then yes.” She perched back beside him, the mattress sloping under her weight. “To suggest any act of lascivious intent would be in direct violation of his oath.”_

They sat cross legged on the end of her pallet, two of the most reviled warriors in the Seven Kingdoms. One condemned by her gender and face, the other despised for his misunderstood acts. Their knees bumped together as they crammed into the limited space, both lengthy of limb and muscular of build. Though each move he made was fluid, whereas hers were clumsy and cumbersome.

_She does not even accept herself to see her innate grace…_

A bowl balanced precariously beside them, lukewarm water cooling within, torn rags draped over the edge. Jaime wrung one of excess moisture with his strong hand, leaning forward and dabbing at the base of her nose. She shied away initially at the contact, not from pain but from hesitancy, unfamiliar with this brand of kindness. He watched her tighten her shoulders and move back towards him, withstanding his care with patient tolerance and closing her blue eyes as he began his ministrations.

“Do you think its broken?” Her voice was scratchy as she attempted to diffuse her agitation with chatter. 

“I don’t believe so – but you would know better than I. From my reckoning, I would say you’ve suffered that injury at least twice before.”

“Correct. Another eyesore, my nose will never be straight again.” She huffed wryly. “Not that it has a detrimental effect on my face.” 

“Warriors have battle scars. Wear them with pride, it is just a mark of your ferocity. I would have paid good money to see how your past adversaries fared.”

The smallest flicker of a grin, before she resumed neutrality. “Will you click it back into place?”

“It will hurt…”

“I have endured worse.”

He cringed as he placed his thumbs to either side of the bridge, straightening it as best he could with a sickening crack.

Brienne’s eyes burst open as she inhaled sharply, wriggling her nose several times to test the repositioning. “That is better.”

Jaime’s smile extended from ear to ear. “You are a marvel. Most men I have fought beside would be howling like babes. I have seen it done – it takes at least three men to catch them and pin them down.”

“And they call me a woman.”

She leant forward and retrieved another dripping rag, shyly ghosting it over his forehead and running it into his hairline. Careful not to let her flesh come into contact with his own.

“It is alright My Lady, it shan’t singe. Skilful as I am, I cannot taint your celibacy through the brush of my skin alone.”

“I have not…” Brienne gulped. “I have not touched a man before… not without a weapon in my hand.”

“You do not have to if it makes you uneasy but know I will not bite.”

She blushed, ducking her gaze and reaching forward. Tracing the gash with now decorated his eyebrow with a shaking hand.

Jaime tried not to let the profound affect her touch had on him show, yet as she diligently swiped away the layer of sweat and grime he savoured her gentle attentions, lips parting with a sigh.

_Fuck – I cannot remember when I was last caressed like this. _

A derisive jeer at his own expense came hurtling from the recesses of his brain.

_You never have been – no woman has ever cared enough to tend to you after a battle…. _

He squeezed his eyes shut at the threatening sting of salt tears, unable to refute the veracity of the claim.

“My Lord…”

Jaime blinked several times in succession to banish the pressure building behind his lids as he gazed upon her once more. The rag was balled upon her knee and her fingers floated hesitantly above the fabric of his shirtfront. “Were you injured?”

Glancing down he observed the abundance of blood staining the crimson material. The darker patch camouflaged against the colour of his house but evident in their close proximity.

“It is not mine.” He reassured, delighted by the genuine concern writ on her unassuming face.

“Nevertheless, you should change.”

“Are you trying to get me to remove my clothes?” His lopsided smirk was incorrigible and he relished her complexion turning a complimentary shade to his attire.

“N-no. I was –“ Brienne stumbled over her words, endearingly bashful as she worried her bottom lip and alighted from the mattress. “Ser you promised you would not make me uncomfortable with your presence in my chamber.”

“You are right – that was ignoble. Forgive me?”

Brienne nodded as she turned and rifled through a chest on the floor, producing a simple linen undershirt and roughly tossing it in his direction.

“I will avert my eyes.” She avowed, making a point of pivoting and facing the door. “As you surmised yourself upon our first meeting – our sizes are likely similar.”

Lady Tarth herself had exchanged her leathers for more comfortable clothes earlier, keen to remove the reminders of her ordeal. He had not been permitted entrance to her bower until she was done and he had stalked the hall outside her door like a displaced housecat. Jumpy and anxious, should someone round the corner and he have to explain his presence outside a Maid’s private abode.

Jaime continued to beam as he changed from his soiled Lannister garb, partly wishing she was brave enough to sneak a glimpse at his physique. He could scarce recall a time when he had smiled as frequently as he did when in her company.

_Perhaps once more the answer is never…._

Whether intentionally ruffling her moral feathers, teasing, crossing swords or exchanging tales each activity he shared with Brienne felt exciting and new. Her company vivifying his mundane existence and awakening his senses.

Roguishly leaving the laces on the vee-neck unfastened, he lowered himself once more to the bed. Sitting casually as though he belonged there, without a care in the world.

“I am decent.” He proclaimed loudly before adding. “Or as decent as I can be.”

Ignoring his innuendo, Brienne nodded her approval of the fit. “You were correct about our build.”

“And I am ever so grateful that you do not favour pink satins – for then I would have had to insist on remaining unclad.”

“And I would have had to insist upon your eviction.”

“So willing to cast me out? Lady Brienne what of guest right? You are not a very hospitable host.”

In direct contrast to his assertions, she was busying herself pouring them both a cup of water, handing it to him without aplomb. “I clothed you – what more would you have of me?”

Jaime mentally applauded her ability to adjust to their exchanges, filtering through their manner of communication to decide when and if offence should be taken.

_She adapts as rapidly to our wordplay as she does with a blade in hand. _

“Should a woman who places so much value in her modesty really ask that question to a man sitting on her bed?” He raised his eyebrows at her over the rim of the cup as he sipped, favouring her with an unobstructed view of his mischievous green eyes. “It really is too tempting.”

“When she has come to place faith in the honour of this particular individual’s word – then yes.” She perched back beside him, the mattress sloping under her weight. “To suggest any act of lascivious intent would be in direct violation of his oath.”

“Bravo. I have no rebuttal.”

They sat quietly for a beat, drinking their water. His eyes outlining the contours of her face, making a tally of her adorable freckles, as she stared demurely at her cup. Every couple of minutes her blue orbs would dart in his direction, only to flick away again self-consciously when she found they met his green marbles.

“Do you still intend riding in the joust tomorrow?” Jaime enquired.

“If you remain willing to let me have your place.”

He chortled with glee. “Of course! I suspected as much. You are not the type to be intimidated or deterred.”

“The crime is theirs not mine, I will not run home to my Father with my tail between my legs.”

“Then tomorrow, you will break lances against their sorry forms and hopefully send them crashing from their horses.” He raised his cup in mock toast and took a swig.

_I wish this was something a little stronger than water – but of course she wouldn’t imbibe._

“Honestly Ser Jaime – as resolved as I am – I would not hold it against you if you were to withdraw the offer. After today’s scandal you may be hesitant to willingly participate in another.”

“Pfft.” The lion was not dissuaded. “This feline has only used half his nine lives – I’m sure I have at least four more to fall back on. It is you I should worry about – riding in my armour after today paints a giant target on your back. They will be even more determined to exact their vengeance on the Kingslayer.”

Her expression was steely and her tone did not quaver. “Then let them come. I will break them for their presumption and make them rue the day – for both of us.” She nodded respectfully in his direction, imitating his gesture with the cup.

_Gods…. This woman. _

The lion cleared his throat, determined to lay his soul at her feet. The divulgence bubbling up and out of him like a fountain as his dearest wish became to bridge the gap of knowledge which lay between them. Destroying the unanswered queries which were preventing them from becoming even closer.

“Brienne-“ He took the liberty of dropping her title, wanting to speak with her on a human level. “-during the Sack of King’s Landing my Father and I quarrelled bitterly. I rode to the Red Keep with the intention of thwarting his heinous plans and stopping the callous murder of the royal children at the hands of his worst brutes. But when I got there – it was too late and the scenes I saw rocked me to my very core and haunt me to this day…”

His voice choked at the memory of the gore and what remained of their small bodies. The savagery and butchery so depraved it tore his bosom to shreds. 

“Ser Jaime, you no longer have to tell me this –“ Brienne’s hand came to rest on his arm, delicate and consoling, her own discomfit cast aside in the face of his distress. “- you owe me no explanation. I see your worth without requiring justification of your past.”

“I trust you.” The timbre of his voice was pleading, his eyes frantic and large. “And I need you to know. I want you to understand.” His body trembled violently as he began to beg. “Grant me this, your solicitude, your ear…. I have never had a single person on whom I can rely.” 

“Then tell me what you will and I shall listen.” She promised, squeezing his forearm.

A paragon of benevolence and empathy. A confidant in whom he felt secure – knowing she would catch him in her benign aura.

“I wandered the halls looking for the culprits, my Father’s rabid dogs, his henchmen. I was going to make them pay for what they’d done. Inhuman monsters with no right to draw breath amongst the living...”

A single tear broke lose, the rivulet running down his cheek a sign of weakness for which he should be ashamed. His Father would berate him for it, question his manhood, make him feel like a weed in the family garden.

Brienne edged closer on her knees, trapping the droplet beneath a calloused thumb. Removing its stain of disgrace with a compassionate heart as he continued. 

“I overheard a conversation between the King and his hand. He had hidden caches of wildfire beneath the city. ‘Burn them all.’ He gave the orders. ‘Burn them all.’ Every man, woman and child. He would rather they all perish alongside him. Build his funeral pyre out of an entire population. So, I stopped it. I killed them both before it could be ignited. Before more innocents could die at the whims of yet another power crazed tyrant….”

He trailed off with bated breath, awaiting the questioning, the doubt, the accusations.

But Brienne lifted a hand to his mouth to shush him, her fingers lingering mere millimetres from his lips. The longer whiskers in his golden beard scraping against their joins. Tantalisingly close and yet so far.

“I believe you.” Her deep tones were unfeigned, her mien visibly affected. His candour striking a chord within her introverted soul.

Reclaiming her hand, a glint of iron passed across her intelligible countenance, shields lowering and courage being summoned as she fortified herself for her next phrase.

“The men in the camp placed a bet upon whom could claim my Maidenhead.”

Her eyes became clouded with sadness and shame, their endless blue further intensified by the watery quality of unshed tears.

“An entrance fee was set with the entire purse going to the victor. Previously I had been treated with nothing but ridicule and although I was naturally apprehensive, I truly wished to believe that they were accepting me amongst their ranks. They became kind - thoughtful even. Presenting me with gifts and vying for my company. The likes of which I have never known….” 

Fury spiked within the lion Lord. Pure unimpeded loathing making him want to pick up his sword and finish off the rest of the disrespectful arseholes.

_Death seems a fair penalty for bringing this cruelty to her door…. _

“I soon learnt it was all a lie. That they only courted me with false niceties in the interest of despoiling me. My virtue spilt for a bag of coin. They would have me left ruined, without prospects, likely with a babe in my gut.” She pursed her full lips, holding in the tears and Jaime felt as though his heart would break.

“I am not a person to them; I do not live or breathe or feel. I am just a freak, on which they can prey and sate their penchant for cruelty. I shouldn’t care. I know they are not worth even my ire. But it bereaves a person to know they are of such little consequence. Lord Tarly would have the blame put upon me. It is my fault, I courted this victimisation, I deserve all I get.”

“That is simply untrue. They are abhorrent, a scourge upon the male gender.” He wanted to ease her suffering - as she had with him - but without overstepping the line.

Jaime longed to bundle her into his arms and protect her from the atrocities of the world. Roaring with a fury that could raze entire armies to the ground if anyone so much as tried to harm a hair upon her head. But he knew she would not allow such, would insist on fighting her own battles and being a champion for herself.

So, instead he settled for gripping her fingers in his own, rubbing his thumb soothingly over her knuckles, before lifting her hand to his lips.

With complete gallantry and tenderness, he kissed the back of her hand, lingering his warmth upon the corded azure veins which stood out against her ivory skin. Maintaining eye contact and avowing. “I would never seek to dishonour you in such a way My Lady.”

“I know.” She replied, pressing her lips together in a tight smile. “You are a gentleman.” Shaking her head, the irony of their situation was not lost upon her. “Who’d have thought?”

“I’m sorry if I frightened you earlier today – it was not my intention to startle you. I know I was presumptuous; I should not have taken such prerogatives.” 

“Best not mention it – considering the implication of my positioning at the time….” The back of her neck turned red with prickled heat – and Jaime could not help but note how close it was to where he touched. “You are forgiven.”

“What a pair we make.” He chuckled, vividly recalling how unabashed she was when she straddled him. The contrast between the warrior woman and the maiden.

Lacing his fingers though her own, he pulled playfully at her hand as if engaged in a tug of war.

“It is so strange….” The Lady of Tarth tilted her head to the side. “I feel like I’ve known you all my life. How impossibly preposterous does that sound?”

Jaime could only gaze at her in wonderment and fascination. “It doesn’t sound ridiculous at all. At least – not to me.”

()()()()()()()

The room was dark as Jaime bedded down upon the floor. The fur rug providing a plush surface beneath him which was better than half the sleeping conditions he had encountered on marches.

“Are you certain you do not wish to bundle my blanket beneath you Ser Jaime?”

“For the thousandth time Wench, I am fine. Best stop fussing over me and get yourself to sleep. You have a big day on the morrow with several scores to settle.”

“But I feel guilty. As though I have taken you away from your mattress and your ward.”

“My bed will not pine away for want of me and as for Alayne – she has been personally responsible for my missing an abundance of sleep of late. Believe me Lady Brienne, the floor of your chambers is quiet and heavenly by comparison.”

Regardless of his assurances, her worried enquiries continued. “Will she not miss you?”

“It pains me to say - she will not. I have taken great efforts to bond with her but I fear she favours her Mother when it comes to her attachment to me. I persevere, but a break for a night may do us both good. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder and I can only hope that is true from a babe’s perspective.”

The Warrior Maid fell silent, time elapsing so that Jaime became convinced she must have fallen asleep.

Letting his heavy lids flutter closed, he sank heavily into his borrowed pillow, willing the angst and malaise to melt away and be left behind with yesterday.

“Ser Jaime…” She almost sounded meek, though he blamed his sleepy state for misinterpreting her voice. “…. was your wife very beautiful?”

Confusion seemed to taint her usual certitude as she added even more quietly. “Surely she must have loved you very much…”

“Lysa was quite fetching – her paramour certainly must have thought so. But no – she did not care for me. I fear - I have never been loved.”

The fog of the dreamworld swirled around him, swaddling him in its irresistible embrace. His ears catching the most curious of phrases as he surrendered to its seductive song.

“Then she must have been insane.”


	7. The Chink In My Armour Is My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unbidden her gaze sought Ser Jaime’s, the gloriously handsome knight positioned across the table and down several places.  
He caught her eye and winked conspiratorially; his face transforming into an easy grin which liquified her insides.
> 
> _I thought greater of myself than this – that I was wiser, more resilient. But I am being betrayed by my maiden’s heart…._
> 
> Three short days she had known the lion Lord and in that insignificant expanse of time she had learnt to seek his face in a room. To watch for his reactions, to have her world revolve with him at its centre, shining more radiantly than the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to hear from our leading lady....  
This chapter is told from Brienne's perspective. <3

Brienne jittered her leg anxiously beneath the long table, bouncing her knee up and down and willing the toasts to be concluded.

The closing banquet was well underway – three days of festivities being wrapped up in the lavish style of the Reach. Arbour Gold flowed generously and the rich mahogany table was barely visible beneath the plethora of platters and bowls. She was dressed in breeches and a tunic of oceanic blue, the sigil of Tarth embroidered upon her breast and her short hair combed into a controlled knot at the nape of her neck.

She had doggedly overlooked the silken gown which had been smuggled unknowingly into her clothes chest in case an occasion such as tonight arose - burying the garment at the very bottom and cinching her swordbelt around her waist.

_It is just a pity steel has not been permitted this evening…._

Even so, she had defiantly slipped a dagger inside her boot, adamant that she would not be caught defenceless again. The concealed weapon reinforcing her mettle and bolstering her confidence.

The Maid of Tarth blushed profusely when she was praised as the Champion of the Melee, lowering her gaze demurely as her cheeks ignited under the heat of a hundred stares.

_Please may they move on…. _

Their focus soon shifted and she was grateful to have been seated next to the victor of the Archery Tournament – the representative of House Grandison whom much like his sigil seemed mellowed by the alcohol and his full belly. Brienne bit her lips in a smug smile.

_I needn’t have disclosed anything – by technicality I won the wager. _

Unbidden her gaze sought Ser Jaime’s, the gloriously handsome knight positioned across the table and down several places. He caught her eye and winked conspiratorially; his face transforming into an easy grin which liquified her insides.

_I thought greater of myself than this – that I was wiser, more resilient. But I am being betrayed by my maiden’s heart…._

Three short days she had known the lion Lord and in that insignificant expanse of time she had learnt to seek his face in a room. To watch for his reactions, to have her world revolve with him at its centre, shining more radiantly than the sun.

Last night she had turned and tossed, her thoughts possessed by the man who lay upon her floor. A hostile takeover of her system, which made her palms grow clammy and her mouth become parched. Thirsting for something which to her had no name, an unquenchable flame, her meandering aimlessly in a dizzying desert and he a shimmering mirage. If she reached out to grab hold of him surely he would evaporate between her fingers. Turn to mist and haze, wresting her from this lifelike fantasy.

“I’m proud of you.” His eyes had crinkled at the corners as he personally helped to remove his dented plate from her body earlier that afternoon, dismissing his squires and leaving them alone together. Performing acts for her benefit which were well below his station. 

“I only came fifth.” She replied modestly, wishing she had done more for him in the joust.

“Eliminated by points is more than most Knights could aspire to. You kept your seat. I maintain my position on the topic - you did us proud.”

Brienne had stupidly presumed she understood affection. That her infatuation with Renly’s well-intentioned soul must have been equivalent to love. Then Ser Jaime had burst into her tent, showering her with adulation and the veneration she so ardently desired. He had spoken without pretence, peppering his compliments with insults, lending weight to his words by his unreserved, frank manner of speech. His honesty had disarmed her, his unexpected chivalry personifying every knightly value she had been raised upon.

The Kingslayer – nothing like what he portrayed to the masses. An unsung hero beyond the archetype of legend and she had been allowed to peruse the pages of his secret tale.

When finally her lids had closed, she had predicted her sleep would be interrupted by nightmares – horrid reinterpretations of the terrors of the day. But instead it had been haunted by a different variety of torment. Her subconscious visions laced with desire and repressed yearning. In her dreams he came to her, crawling across the covers, his hand clasping her neck as he had done in the yard, lips hovering a hair’s breadth above her own.

“I will not proceed without permission…” His voice was charismatic, thick with need as he gazed upon her the way all women wanted to be looked at.

“Take the spoils…” She was breathless and daring. Pursuing her appetites with reckless abandon. “I will not deny you satisfaction.”

Her innocent mind fell short with filling in the wanton blanks, her illusion cutting out as she parted willing thighs.

But that was merely make-believe, an alternate reality without repercussions, where one could give in to rash concupiscence. And in her fantasies she never saw herself, could ignore the limitations imposed by her ugliness.

_He would never want me in such a way and for I to surrender so easily would be unforgivably foolish…._

Tomorrow they would all depart. The retinues packing up and going their separate ways.

_Chances are I will never see him again. He belongs at Casterly Rock and I on my small island. We may as well live on opposite ends of the Earth. _

She wished the thought did not make her ache so sorely.

Finally released from duty, she rose from the table, making her apologies politely as she excused herself. She could only sit still for so long, making small-talk and pretending to be something she was not. Hastily she crossed the expanse of the crowded room, slipping through the doors to wander the winding corridors.

_Here I can explore without second guessing my behaviour, roam freely and be answerable to none…_

Her whole life Brienne had been a loner. Her older brother passed away when she was young and her twin sisters had not survived infancy, the agony of their delivery taking her mother along with them. The Evenstar had been wracked with grief, the anguish consuming him for the majority of her childhood, leaving her to her own devices as he buried his sorrows in women and ruling. The Lady of Tarth had learned to take pleasure in the simple things – the rush which came from brandishing naked steel, the exhilaration of a tussle, the serenity which accompanied a melody.

Ever since her earliest memory, songs had always held a special place in her heart. It was an ingrained compulsion steeped with meaning which she held close to her chest, guarding the precious knowledge as a private indulgence, its origin a mystery even to her. The lyrics of an enigmatic lullaby, delivered in a youthful male’s honeyed tenor, its four stanzas repeating evocatively, mollifying her battered spirit.

Each season, musicians would flock to Evenfall Hall in droves and she would listen eagerly to their performances, wide eyed and enthusiastic. Whenever they asked for a request, she would shyly suggest a lullaby. By the end she learned all their songs word for word, but never did her blue melody make an appearance.

_Perhaps the next singer… _

She had convinced herself, clinging to hope. But her grail was never discovered and eventually, when maturity and responsibility came knocking upon her door, she had abandoned her pursuit. Resigned that the ethereal strains would forever remain hosted only in her soul.

Her feet travelled of their own accord, carrying her through sitting rooms and up narrow stairwells. The enormity of the stronghold rivalled only by the elaborate architecture. Brienne stopped to admire paintings and wall-hangings, noting their intricate workmanship or pausing to appreciate the mouldings over the arched doorways.

_A shorter person would likely never notice._

Her tranquillity was shattered by an intrusive wall of sound. The opening of a door releasing the splitting wail into the hallway, the shrill cry funnelling down to reach her ears. A harried looking maid bustled past, black circles ringing her eyes and hair sticking out all over the place.

_In her haste she neglected to shut the door behind her…._

Brienne’s boots clomped across the wooden floorboards, each footfall echoing and bouncing off the walls. She proceeded with caution, being careful not to startle anyone who may still be in the room and not expecting a stranger’s presence at this late hour.

Peering timidly around the doorframe, she found the chamber darkened and abandoned save for one. A squalling babe lay in her cradle, kicking up a fuss. Her cheeks reddened from exertion as she screamed her lungs out. Scrunching up her face and welling her icy blue eyes with tears. Another surveying glance within satisfied the Warrior Maid that they were indeed alone and she quietly stepped over the threshold into the nursery, the carpeted ground muffling her approach.

“Listen to you….” She furrowed her brow as she neared the cot. “…. Your carer should not have left you unattended.”

The dramatic cries only grew more piteous and Brienne reached out to uncertainly rock the crib.

“Then again-“ A wry smirk. “I could suppose she was at the end of her tether.”

The Maid of Tarth had no experience with infants, her most recent memory of exposure to a child was being one herself. But there was something about the helpless bawling which awakened a maternal instinct within.

“Shush now –“ Her hand looked so large against the tiny human, as she stroked the silky blanket and tried to soften her deep voice to accommodate. “- A babe like you, has naught to despair about. At your age the whole world is at your beck and call.”

Her calming words made minimal difference, the keening as piercing and defiant as ever.

Balling her hands into fists at her sides, Brienne made one final check that help was not on its way, before relenting and scooping up the girl in her arms.

_My limbs are only made to look more ungainly when they have something this little cradled within them. _

The noise grew more deafening as its small but vociferous source was brought closer to her ears and she began to pace and rock in an attempt to pacify the little one.

“May I presume…” Brienne took inventory of the babe’s belongings; all the most sumptuous finery money could buy. “…. That your name is Alayne?”

She knew the girl could neither confirm nor deny.

_But how many Knights would have brought their infant to a Tourney? Surely most children would have been left with their mothers. _

The thought saddened the Lady of Tarth. Understanding the pain of losing a Mother you would never remember, a childhood deprived of maternal sweet comforts and unconditional love.

“You and I have something in common….” She explained in her usual rational manner of speech but her tone was imbued with tenderness. “… we both lost someone we loved when we were very young and there is little that can be done to ease that pain.”

She curled and uncurled her long fingers, petting the crop of downy black hair. Her memory conjuring up repressed feelings from a forgotten place deep in her psyche.

“Though for me someone did try – and for you I’d like to do the same.”

Brienne swallowed, summoning her courage.

_For her I will do this – I am not afraid._

In all her years she had wanted to sing, quashing and dampening the urge with her debilitating shyness and fear of further mockery. But now, she had a cause which was worthy.

_Whether they deem me suitable to be a Knight or not, I can aid this innocent. I can ease her hurt and make a difference, as once was done for me…._

Taking a large breath she began…


	8. You Complete Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _For the last two dawns I have awoken with joy in my chest, springing from the bed in excitement at the prospect of spending a day in her company. I am accustomed to dragging myself miserably from between the covers and going through the motions of the waking hours until I can conceal my sorry self beneath them once again that night.___
> 
> _How can such intensity of feeling be wrong? When sentiment is this strong, time should be irrelevant..._
> 
> _I have been presented with a blessing – a connection of souls and minds – it is all I have prayed for and I should seize my opportunity with both hands. Hold her tight if she will have me and never let her go._

“I hear rumours dear brother….” Cersei had ingested too much wine. It was loosening her tongue and encouraging her spitefulness. “That in the absence of a woman you are finding mannish sows attractive. Tsk, tsk Jaime.” She pouted her full lips. “Surely one of our family does not have to stoop so low?”

The golden lion ground his teeth, reminding himself that they were on public display. He earnestly wished that hosts would stop doing him the ‘favour’ of seating him beside his twin at courtly obligations. It was getting tiresome.

“Sweet sister.” His own voice was cloying and fake. “One could say I am learning. Why they say taste is like wine - it only improves in time.”

Jaime swept from his chair without a further word, leaving her to stew on his slight and silently fume.

Scanning the throngs, he frowned, unable to locate a particularly tall tow-headed wench. He very much wanted to spend time with her – it was their last night at Bitterbridge and already he had been forced to squander half the evening exchanging tediously dull pleasantries with people that cared as little for him as he did for them.

_How could she have disappeared so quickly?_

He made a methodical circuit of the outskirts of the crowd, checking all the obvious places where she could blend into the shadows and avoid communicating.

_My sweet anti-social wench, I would rather keep your company all to myself-_

He halted his train of thought.

_I think of her as mine already – when I have no right or entitlement. _

They would be divided upon the morn and the mere idea formed a knot in his throat. He knew it was illogically hasty to harbour such strong emotions for the Maid of Tarth – but it was an affinity he simply couldn’t help.

_For the last two dawns I have awoken with joy in my chest, springing from the bed in excitement at the prospect of spending a day in her company. I am accustomed to dragging myself miserably from between the covers and going through the motions of the waking hours until I can conceal my sorry self beneath them once again that night. _

_How can such intensity of feeling be wrong? When sentiment is this strong, time should be irrelevant..._

_I have been presented with a blessing – a connection of souls and minds – it is all I have prayed for and I should seize my opportunity with both hands. Hold her tight if she will have me and never let her go._

His epiphany was interrupted by one of his servants - Alayne’s nightnurse barrelled towards him in a state of hassled disarray.

“I’m sorry to disturb ‘ye M’Lord but she just won’t settle. You told me if it got past a point I was to fetch you and I fear if she keeps cryin’ like this she shall make herself sick.”

“It is alright Hettie, thank you. I will go to her at once.”

With one final visual sweep of the gathering, he strode from the room to assist with his ward.

()()()()()()()

The first thing he noted was the serene hush. The absence of Alayne’s signature caterwauling which generally kept him up well past the hour of the nightingale.

_I hope she has not made herself ill, she gets so worked up…._

Rushing the final stretch, he burst through the ajar door to the nursery and froze in place.

Brienne stood bathed in moonlight. The silver sheen illuminating strands of her blonde hair and painting her as the living portrayal of the Moonmaid high above. Her long arms curled protectively around his small charge, shielding her from the world as she swayed gently from side to side.

But most heavenly of all was the sound of her singing, an innocent serenade intended only for the ears of the babe.

“Blue is the sky,

Azure are your eyes,

Bright and clear,

You have nothing to fear…

Sleepiness calls,

Yet you walk the halls,

Looking to find,

Why you were left behind….”

Recognising the lyrics, Jaime released an audible gasp, prompting her to turn towards him. Brienne’s complexion turned from pale ivory to pink as her marbles widened - acknowledging his presence and what he had just witnessed. An intrusion upon a private moment no other being was meant to see. 

“I-I-I…” Dropping her head, he could sense the humiliation and awkwardness radiating from her hunched form. “I did not mean to interfere My Lord. I heard her crying and I gathered she was your ward… I apologise. I have overstepped the boundaries of our association.”

Jaime walked forward, entranced. Robbed of speech and lost for words.

His lips parted in awe and disbelief as he realised the implication of her knowing his song. Exactly who Brienne of Tarth was and when they had first encountered each other. He smiled at her bewildered expression as he came to stand in front of her, joining her in their beam of moonlight, their profiled forms casting long silhouettes across the carpet. 

“Ser Jaime…?” Brienne’s voice was a hesitant whisper as she tried to interpret his silence.

Her blue orbs forlorn as he registered that they mirrored a different kind of fear to that which he first surmised.

_It is not just her shyness – she is frightened of losing me…._

Leaning over, he grasped her hand where it clutched the velvety blanket, slowly covering her sweet flesh with his own. His thumb rubbing a line of reassurance, expressing to her what his mouth could not. His mind turned somersaults, searching for inspiration. A million ways he could try to explain the profound meaning of their meeting – in this way, with that lullaby – of their fate and inevitable connection. But none had the ability to convey its relevance with the surety that could only come from the continuation of their melody.

Drawing in a lungful of air, he locked his gaze upon hers and resumed where she left off…

“The harsh world is wild,

But rest easy dear child,

You are brave, never meek,

It is your own light you seek….”

Her jaw fell open, a plethora of questions flitting behind her eyes. The lion simply nodded encouragement, smiling as they finished the song together, their voices mingling into one.

“You hold it within,

And the dark never wins,

When you shine on the world,

So pleasant dreams sweet girl…”

As they let their strains fade into the evening air, Brienne licked her lips, her desire to enquire bursting at the seams. “Jaime how do you know that song?”

“Shhhhh.” He raised a finger to his mouth, carefully extracting the sleeping babe from her arms. Lovingly returning her to her crib, where she could spend the darkness of the night, dwelling in realms of eternal Summer.

His Maid was impatient, tapping her foot and breathing heavily, watching his every move.

“Jaime-” She tried again; this time more insistent. “How do you-“

He interrupted her with a passionate kiss. Devouring her queries with needy lips and fervent tongue. Nipping and licking at her plump bottom lip as she melted into him. Her firm body moulding against his form as she opened willingly for his kiss. Responding with exquisite moans and feather-light fingers upon his cheek.

Masterfully he guided her, willing to take his time teaching his young Maiden the art of sensual love. Slowing down her initially feverish introduction to the ways of a man and a woman.

_I would have this initial kiss last forever; it will be the first of many… _

“Jaime-“ She entreated him for answers as he pecked at her lips, her accompanying smile the most pure and untainted of gifts from the heavens. “-please tell me where you heard it...”

_Magnificent, incredible, stubborn wench – not even my affections can distract her. _

He nuzzled at her temple and her contented sigh blew warmly over his face. Her impossibly gentle fingers weaving through his blonde mane.

“....I have searched for the melody my whole life.”

“Then your journey has come full circle-” His voice was like silk as he gazed at his soulmate.

Meaning and jubilation flooding back into his existence. Filling the vacant spaces where loneliness and rejection resided. Their parted years merely a void as he waited for her to be delivered by the grace of the Gods back into his waiting arms. A predestination set upon roads which crossed as assuredly as their swords. It was foreordained, fated, they were meant to be each other’s.

“-I wrote it for you.”

> 


	9. As It Ends, So It Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue...

“Am I getting older or are you getting taller?” Jaime grunted dramatically, emphasising the effort of lifting the young girl.

She enthusiastically clapped at his cheeks with her chubby hands, giggling at his nonsense. “Uncle Jaime, I’m not getting taller, I’m getting stronger.”

“Who says?”

“Lord Selwyn did.”

“Really?” He shifted Alayne from one hip to another, grinning as the movement made her black hair fall into her eyes. During her time at Evenfall she had been well and truly spoiled by his father-in-law. She had been allowed the run of the stronghold without limitation and when she expressed an interest in trying her hand at swordplay the aging Lord had a wooden tourney sword fashioned in her perfect size.

_Brienne’s influence over her has been strong. _

The lion had been delighted when he first noticed his young charge emulating his woman.

_A finer role model you never could find. _

“Well you can run off and tell Lord Selwyn, that I suggested you challenge him to a personal duel. Then you will know once and for all.”

Her Tully blue eyes widened, gleaming at the prospect.

“Yes!” She squealed excitedly, practically leaping from his arms and scampering down the hall, only remembering at the last second to call out and ask. “You will come and watch?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for all the gold in Casterly Rock.”

Her teeth flashed briefly in a wide smile as she disappeared from sight.

“Wench?” Jaime pushed open the door to their sprawling quarters, inhaling the salt air and admiring the breathtaking view. Though it wasn’t the sapphire straits nor sunlight drenched landscape to which he referred – but his wife, rocking their first born.

_Ah, naptime._

He crept closer on leather clad tiptoes so as not to disturb her progress, smiling softly as she hummed the familiar bars of their lullaby.

“Is Joanna asleep?” Jaime asked quietly.

“At last.” Brienne laid her chin on top of their daughter’s blonde curls and sighed in relief.

The toddler had her mother in a stranglehold – arms wrapped tightly around her neck, unusually long legs snaked around her torso. It was nearly comical.

_It’s a good thing my woman is strong._

The lion gently stroked her pale gold tresses, alighting a quick kiss upon her brow.

He repeated the process for his wife, aiming instead for her lips - this kiss markedly more sensual.

“Ser Brienne…” His voice was husky and he was suddenly very pleased their little lady had finally drifted into slumber.

“Jaime…” Brienne scolded. “I am not a Knight.”

“But you should be – if you’d only accept my offer.” 

“It isn’t the right way for it to be done….” She stepped away, carrying Joanna to her small bed in the next room, her husband hot on her heels.

“Why not? I am a Knight; I have the right to pass on that title as I see fit.”

“But it would be said you only did it because you are my husband. It would lose all validity.” As she spoke, she lay the little girl down, tucking her legs beneath the covers. “I have fought no wars and achieved no feat worthy of a Knighthood.”

“Horseshit.” Jaime grimaced as the cuss came flying from his mouth, pleased Joanna was far away in dreamland and unable to hear. “I was in the room when you waged the greatest battle of your life in that birthing bed. After our mothers and what you went through, you deserve every accolade I can bestow.”

She smiled placatingly as she pulled up the blanket, warding off the notable nip in the seabreeze as it wafted through the open window. The hallmark of changing seasons. 

“That is very sweet Jaime but following your theory every woman who bears children should have the title.”

“But you are a warrior and a mother – that deserves acknowledgment.”

“Husband – the subject is closed. I will forge my own credibility and earn my Knighthood, somewhere, someday, somehow.” Pecking him on the cheek she added sombrely. “The opportunity may soon come.”

“Brienne….”

Turning back towards their daughter, she bent over the bed, tenderly placing a maternal hand upon her forehead. “Sleep my little one, enjoy your peace and summer of innocence. Hold on to it, every moment is precious. You never know what tomorrow may bring….”

Jaime assessed his wife’s countenance as they departed the room. “You’re anxious.” He observed. “What did the Maester say?”

They strolled out onto the balcony, overlooking the sparkling sea. Brienne pressed her back to the railing, allowing Jaime to envelop her in his arms.

“He says it is too soon to tell. But I know I am with child – I feel the same way I did with Joanna.” She smirked. “And we lay together often enough.”

“We do a darn sight more than lying….” He pulled her into a voluptuous kiss, their tongues engaged in a leisurely dance as he relished the idea that they would be parents again. Reluctantly parting their lips, he thought merrily of the reactions they would receive when they shared the news. “Selwyn will be happy. He is always going on about a son for Tarth.”

Brienne shook her head in mock dismay. “I’m sorry Jaime – he has never quite gotten the idea through his head that I am now considered a Lannister.”

“Don’t apologise, Selwyn can say and do whatever he likes. He will never cease to be anything but a vast improvement on my own Father.” 

“Yet he too will be pleased.”

The lion scoffed bitterly. _My father can go and produce more heirs of his own if he wants them. Tywin Lannister will never get anywhere near my children. _

He was grateful he need not taint the day by expressing such opinions to Brienne, she knew his thoughts on the subject all too well.

Jaime eyed his wife, ever appreciative to have this remarkable woman by his side. To him she was as noble and proud as the day he first burst into her tent, yet also wiser and more assured. Her trademark nerves replaced instead with a matriarchal serenity, exuding an inner strength and quiet confidence which he could not help but revere. For her the lion lord wanted every possible joy – so he knew he must be forthright and pose to her a sensitive question.

“Does the idea of another bother you?”

“No. I am glad for it. For ourselves it is a blessing, one which I welcome.” She placed a large hand over her womb, already bonding with their babe within. “It is when thinking of what lies ahead that you can sense my hesitation. I cannot say what will become of the world our child is being born into. I am unable to promise a certain future for Alayne or our Joanna….”

Rotating in his embrace, she stared out across the vast blue waters. He knew from the way a small line appeared between her brows that she was deep in thought. Jaime tightened his hold around her, locking both arms around her bosom and cuddling into her neck. Enjoying the feel as she leaned into his warmth. 

“Have you heard anything further?” He murmured.

“We are always receiving new snippets. Information from merchants and traders who dock down at the Harbour. There are troubling rumours of undead things in the North – by description these monsters belong more in a nightmare than in reality – if you give them credence.” Brienne shrugged against his chest. “Even more concerning are the tales from Essos, they say the last remaining Targaryen has declared herself Queen, amassing an army after hatching three dragons. With them she intends to reclaim Westeros.”

“And you are married and pregnant to the man who slew her Father…”  
He squeezed his wife, dragging her as close as he could. Convincing himself that as long as she was encircled within his arms, he could protect her. As if the vehemence of his will alone could prevent time from marching on, bringing with it the insidious changing tide of power. 

“I am not afraid of battle Jaime; I would never run away from a fight.”

“I know.” He gulped, the weight of responsibility descending upon their shoulders. Being parents, being commanders, being figureheads.

_At least we know whatever we face – we do it together._

Jaime inhaled deeply, holding the oxygen in his lungs before releasing it again in declaration. “I absolutely adore you.”

He kissed her neck, all the way up to her ear, his whiskers tickling and making her squirm. Breaking the tension.

_We still behave like young lovers – I hope we always will. _

“Brienne – do you wonder where you’d be? If we hadn’t met up again during the melee? If I hadn’t swept you off your feet – figuratively only of course because you are way too sturdy to lift-“ She smacked at one of his arms, whilst affectionately rubbing the other. “- Do you ever ponder what your life would have looked like?”

“Perish the thought.” His warrior woman was as no-nonsense as ever. “I love you with all my heart and I would have my life no different. I stand with you Jaime – come what may.”

The lion’s green eyes crinkled at the corners; his smile unable to be suppressed. “Forever?”

Brienne didn’t even flinch before answering. “Eternally.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we have it! What happens when my imagination is piqued by Soulmate AU + Forgotten First Meeting.  
Huge thanks again to Ro_Nordmann for the prompt which inspired this fic - I have loved writing it and it wouldn't have happened without your message. :) 
> 
> And huge hugs and appreciation for everyone who has read and commented along the way.  
You keep me typing, you keep the thoughts flowing, you keep me smiling and writing until late in the night.  
I love you all! <3
> 
> I am always working on new Jaime & Brienne writing projects, so be sure to subscribe or check back.  
Alternatively, now this fic is wrapped, I will be continuing to post and work on my Inktober prompt fic 'As The Ink Dries.' 
> 
> Thank-you for joining me on this adventure! Hugs!  
:) Madelyn aka NightReaderEnigma


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